


The Visitation

by LadyJaneGrey92



Category: The Man in the High Castle (TV), Victoria (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst and Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Man in the High Castle AU, Reincarnation, Sex, Slow Burn, Time Travel, Vicbourne/High Castle Mashup, vicbourne au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:54:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 88,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23767252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyJaneGrey92/pseuds/LadyJaneGrey92
Summary: Vicbourne meets The Man in the High Castle in this AU Mashup story.It has been two long years since Lord Melbourne has died, and still Victoria has not been able to grieve him.  Some grief is too deep to face under any circumstances.  But when her neglectful husband leaves her for a visit to his brother in Saxe-Coburg,Victoria's thoughts turn back to the man she has never stopped loving, not even in the face of death.  As her grief threatens to consume her, something shifts, and suddenly she is confronted with a face she thought never again to look upon in this lifetime...Reichsmarschall John Smith is angry.  It's been months since Helen took the girls and left for the Neutral Zone, and he has been left alone to face his failures as a husband and father, along with the collapse of his marriage.  His position in the Reich is on tenuous footing, the Resistance is on the rise, and the very last thing he needs is a strange woman on his doorstep, no matter how lovely....Who is she--this woman who seems to know him?  Where did she come from?  And why does she seem so damned familiar?This story takes place sometime during the gap year between Season 3 and Season 4 of Man in the High Castle.
Relationships: John Smith (Man in the High Castle)/Victoria of the United Kingdom (1819-1901), William Lamb 2nd Viscount Melbourne & Victoria of the United Kingdom (1819-1901), William Lamb 2nd Viscount Melbourne/Victoria of the United Kingdom (1819-1901)
Comments: 485
Kudos: 154





	1. Down the Rabbit-Hole

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Daphne_Fredriksen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daphne_Fredriksen/gifts), [Speechie22](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Speechie22/gifts), [redbourn](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=redbourn).



> Dear Readers,
> 
> After many months of stalking around the outer perimeters of my mind, casting me brooding, come-hither looks and enigmatic smiles, it would seem John Smith has become impatient with waiting for me to write him a story and run me to ground at last. He's kicked down the door to my imagination, and taken my ability to sleep hostage, threatening to never give it back unless I write a story for him. Many sleepless nights later, this is the result--so far. I am a zombie, but John is not a man to be gainsaid. 
> 
> Also I have to say I don't think John has been entirely alone in this endeavor. This story is dedicated to a few others who I strongly suspect have been conspiring with him in trying to bring this about. 
> 
> WHAT have you all gotten me into? 
> 
> I am out of my element here, but I really hope you all enjoy the results!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victoria finds herself in the most extraordinary circumstances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Little Alice fell  
> d  
> o  
> w  
> n  
> the hOle,  
> bumped her head  
> and bruised her soul”  
> ― Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

**Chapter 1--Down the Rabbit-Hole**

_**London, England. 1850** _

She could not sleep.

Victoria sat up with a sigh. It was no use even trying to pretend to sleep. Despite the chill of the night air, her bedding was stifling hot, making her sweat abominably the moment she crawled into it. Yet even the bite of the sharp night air seemed ineffectual at cooling her down. It was a frustrating state of affairs.

And in any case, she hated her bed.

She huffed a sigh and padded her way to her window nook, looking out over the cool, blue black landscape of the London night. It was deep into night now, so deep as to be almost morning. And her loneliness was unabated. It stalked her like a relentless, starved thing, threatening to devour what was left of her life. But oddly tonight it had put on different clothing. Albert was in Saxe-Coburg visiting Ernst. But it was not because he was away that she was unable to sleep, unable to settle. 

It was not for Albert that she was lonely.

She found herself rooms away, standing by her escritoire before she even had known her steps had carried her there. She touched the smooth surface of the desk, let it’s coolness sink into her hand. She closed her eyes…

And suddenly he was before her…striding into her room with a box of dispatches under his arm. Tall and elegant, dressed in blue and burgundy, his lips and cheeks pink from the morning air, his green eyes like fire as he turned them to her, smiling as he bent to one knee, kissing her hand in greeting…

She sobbed aloud. The memory was so vivid it carved her aching heart mercilessly. The tears rolled down her cheeks. Her beloved…her beloved Lord Melbourne…oh, how she missed him! And it was for want of him that she had cried out in the night. It was his specter who visited her now. His gentle smile was reproving. She had not even grieved…she had not even permitted herself to grieve him. It hurt--oh, it hurt so badly!

Her hands fumbled with the side drawer, behind a few odds and ends, for a box buried deep where Albert would not find it. She took it from the back of the drawer, cradled it in her hand and drew it forth. Inside of it was an object she scarcely allowed herself to handle, it was so precious to her. But perhaps now it was time for it to come out of her office and into her bedchamber. Now, while Albert was away. There could be no harm in it, surely? And it would comfort her, to have some part of him so near.

She carried the box back to her bedchamber, to her window and opened it. Touched the smooth face of the gold pocket watch gently with a fingertip. It still kept its time. And somehow, that was the biggest travesty of all. How dare it keep its time still, when its master no longer lived?

It was Emily who had presented it to her.

“He would want you to have it, I think,” she had told her, pressing the box into her hands. “William’s friendship with you meant everything to him, Your Majesty. He would be honored to know you are its keeper. Our father gave it to him when he was a young man, bound for university.” William’s sister had pressed the box into Victoria’s hand. “You will keep it to remember him by, will you not, Your Majesty?”

“I shall,” she had promised. “I shall treasure it always. Thank you.”

It was a beautiful thing of itself, decorated with elegant scroll work and filigree. Looking at it immediately brought him to mind—brought him somehow closer. She had seen him wear this watch on countless occasions. Seen it dangle elegantly from his waistcoat, dancing back and forth in rhythm to his long, powerful stride, seen him check it casually from time to time, holding it with his long, elegant fingers…

She cradled it in hers now. Strange how so insignificant a thing can come to hold so much meaning. Can become so very dear…

She pressed the watch to her lips, kissing its cool, smooth surface as if it were the man himself. And as she did so, she felt his presence, close by…close…but not close enough…not ever close enough again…

 _Why_ had they listened to them all? Why had she not…

Oh, just to hold him in her arms! Just to kiss him! Just to tell him how much she still loved him…would always love him…

If only she could have another chance with him. Now that she knew better her own mind, her own self. Had had this glimpse into the future…she should make entirely different choices. But life didn't work that way. 

She folded his watch into her hands and closed her eyes, holding herself still. Very still. As if by her will alone she could conjure his presence and hold him near her, caressing him in memory as she could never do in life.

She knew not how long she was seated thus, before the basin and ewer on a nearby table began to rattle.

Was he here? Was he really here with her now?

Quite suddenly, she found herself somewhere else entirely.

* * *

_**New York City, Greater Nazi Reich, 1963** _

“Reichsmarschall.”

Smith looked up to see his aide-de-camp enter the room.

“The reports you asked for.”

“Thank you Major. Put them there.”

His aide-de-camp left the room and he let out a sigh. More damned reports. More bad news. It just kept on coming. Months down the line from having captured Hawthorne Abendsen and Juliana Crain, and still Resistance activity in his city--in the GNR in general--saw no signs of slowing. New cells just kept popping up everywhere, causing chaos, costing lives and resources with no real end in sight. And now Himmler had more than one reason to question his leadership and judgement. The Fuhrer was not best pleased at Helen's desertion, and ever since she'd left, John had found his influence diminished. There was a shadow over him now. He needed results somewhere if he was to stay alive long enough to put his family back together and keep them all safe. He strode to the tall window of his office thoughtfully, looking down on the hustle and bustle of New York City. He remembered a New York that wasn’t draped in swastikas. He remembered a home in Long Island, where a beautiful, voluptuous red head waited for him every night with a smile. Where his three children—not two, three—greeted him.

Those worlds though, were long gone.

He poured himself a drink and took a thoughtful drought. Such sentimentality had no place in the Reich. No place in the Reichsmarschall. At least not until this whole thing was over and the Resistance was finally crushed. He turned decisively from the window and returned to his desk. Struck up a match, lit up and took a long drag from his cigarette, let it out slowly. Cigarettes and whiskey were the only things left to him to help steady his nerves. Help take the edge off the burn of his existence.

He had just about steeled himself to look in the folder when somehow the air in the room was disturbed. He heard a light, feminine gasp and looked up with a start.

A small, brunette woman stood in the darkened shadows of his office, her silhouette barely visible in the corner.

“Who are you? How did you get in here?” He stood to his feet, alarmed. His hand twitched at his side but he did not draw his gun. She was very petite, with wide round blue eyes set in a pretty, girlish face. Surely she was no threat to him. His eyes narrowed at her. “Come into the light. Slowly. Hold your hands in front of you. Where I can see them.”

She stepped towards him, swathed in a long white nightgown decorated with lace at the wrist, neck and hem. In her hands she clutched a small golden object. Her hair was flowing loose around her shoulders and her blue eyes were enormous in her face. She was pretty in a dainty, delicate way, and her bright eyes were fixed on his.

He swallowed hard. Was she a ghost? A specter? How the hell did she get access to his office? And why did she look at him as if she knew him? An unsettled feeling stole over him, as if someone had just walked over his grave. He found he could no more take his eyes from her than she apparently could take hers from him. Did he know her from somewhere? Why did she seem--familiar?

“Who are you?” He asked again, in a more businesslike tone. “What is your name? How did you get in here?”

She held his eyes, unblinking as she took a few steps forward.

“Lord M?” She breathed. “Is it really you?”

To his dismay she crumpled to the ground. To his even greater dismay, he found himself diving to catch her fall.


	2. Curiouser and Curiouser

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John interviews the woman in his office, but her answers cannot possibly be true. After sending his assistant to settle her into his protective custody, he sets himself to try and disassemble her story. He finds to his chagrin that part of her story at least is true. Does that mean the rest of it is, as well? And if so, what are the implications?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “And the moral of that is—‘Be what you would seem to be’—or, if you’d like it put more simply—‘Never imagine yourself not to be otherwise than what it might appear to others that what you were or might have been was not otherwise than what you had been would have appeared to them to be otherwise.’” 
> 
> —Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

**Chapter 2--Curiouser and Curiouser**

Victoria woke to find herself propped up on a leather settee, with a once-familiar face hovering worriedly nearby.

“Drink,” he said, and pressed a glass to her lips.

She did as he bade, then overcome with emotion, she reached out to trail her fingers down his beloved face. To her shock he winced away from her touch. His green eyes widening in surprise before narrowing in suspicion. Shock reverberated through her. How was it he was before her, and yet looked at her as if he did not even know her?

His eyes remained fixed on her, the green fire she so remembered now piercing her, more stern and forbidding than she had ever seen. As if he could turn her soul inside out and examine it.

“Who are you?” He said again, his voice sounding hoarse. More throaty than she remembered, and oddly inflected.

“You do not know me?” She asked.

“Should I?”

“You did once,” she said simply. “Quite well in fact.”

His eyes narrowed even further.

“How do I know we’ve met if I don’t have your name?”

“Your voice is strange.”

He backed away. Stood up. Canted his head to one side as he looked at her. Thrust his hands into pockets on the side of his breeches. His clothing was strange, too. Black coat, with military insignia, his breeches oddly fashioned so that the thighs were exaggerated wide, like a riding habit. Tall black leather boots over the bottom legs. Crisp white shirt beneath it all. The look suited him, but was odd. Her eyes drifted to the red armband around his upper left arm.

“You are a soldier.” She said simply. He was Lord M. But not Lord M. How could this be? Perhaps it was all a dream. This strange place. Him...

He scoffed at her observation. “You expect me to believe you don’t know who I am?”

“I know who you should be,” she said instead.

“And who is that, exactly?”

“You are William Lamb, 2nd Viscount Lord Melbourne. And my first Prime Minister. My friend.” She finished softly, stroking the surface of his watch that was still in her hand.

His eyes took in the golden pocket watch in her hand, and returned to her face. His gaze razor sharp.

“Lord Melbourne? A Viscount?” He scoffed again. “You are aware of course, we don’t have Viscounts in this country. Haven’t had even before the Reich.” He crossed the room, poured himself a drink and came to sit in the leather chair opposite her. He sat back, legs crossed, head canted to one side again as he gazed at her over his glass. “I assume from the accent that you are British?”

“I am.”

“Do you have a name?”

She paused a moment. This version of her Lord M was so frightfully different, and yet so very much the same. She looked into his green eyes and knew she could deny him nothing. “Victoria.”

“And your last name?”

“I do not have a last name. I am simply Victoria, Queen of Great Britain.”

“Indeed,” he said, looking amused. “Since when?”

“Since1837. I ascended to the throne when I was eighteen.” She swallowed hard. She remembered that day very well. The day she first met her Prime Minister...

“Well…I must say, Your Majesty, that you are looking remarkably well. Especially considering you are 144 years old.” His face told her he did not believe her.

“What did you say?”

“I said you are 144 years old.” He canted his head the other direction, a sort of dark amusement in his eyes.

“But that would mean…what year is this?”

“The year is 1963.”

She fell back on the couch with a thump, suddenly feeling most unwell. "1963?" She echoed. "But how could such a thing be?" She looked up at his beloved face. How it pained her to see him look so coldly upon her! “I wish to wake up now," She whispered.

“Well. I’m sorry. But I’m very much afraid you are not dreaming. Your uh...Majesty,” he said with an ironic nod in her direction, “I must ask, how did you get in here?”

She took a deep breath to steady her nerves. “I was sitting in my room. I couldn’t sleep. I was thinking of him you see--of Lord M, I mean--I found his watch. And I...I came here. That is all I know."

“Ah. And you just suddenly appeared, is that it? In my office? In New York City? In 1963?”

“Apparently,” she said, feeling faint.

The man who was not Lord M nodded, apparently taking in her story. “And I take it that I, in some way, look like this Lord Melbourne?”

“You are exactly like him,” she said somewhat breathlessly. “But you are not him. Are you?”

“No. I am not. My name is John Smith. I’m the Reichsmarschall of the Greater Nazi Reich in America.”

“Reichsmarschall? But that is a German term.”

“It is indeed.”

“You are German?”

“I am American.”

“But—”

“A great deal has happened since your reign, Your Majesty. Germany won our latest world war and your kingdom no longer exists."

"What??" She gasped.

"Nothing exists, apart from the Reich, and the Japanese Pacific States. And depending on who you talk to, it is possible that even Japan will not be in power for much longer. And that, you see, is where our little problem lies. Because you can not possibly be who you claim to be." He gave her a smile that was not a smile, that chilled her to the bone. "And you cannot be here right now. You have put yourself in an awful lot of danger, coming here. And I am presented with this…little problem, of what I am going to do about you.”

“What are you going to do about me?” Nothing of what he said made any sense to her. But there was a dangerous undertone to his voice that commanded her immediate concern. 

“Well, that depends. On how truthful you decide to become. Because pretty face or not—I have to make sure you are not a threat to me. Or to the Reich. So…for the moment, I am going to detain you for further questioning.” And with that pronouncement, he went to his desk, pressed a button. A voice came from nowhere. Then a man entered the room. His eyes widened when he saw her.

“Ms…ah… _Buckingham_ ," he said with amusement in his eyes, "is to be our guest for the time being. Please find her some suitable clothes, and then escort her to the women’s dormitory, to be held there under my invitation and my orders. The usual restrictions apply.”

“Yes Sir.”

“Please. Please may I stay with you?” Despite the fact that he was not Lord M, and the air of menace that hung about him, she was loathe to part from John Smith. Just looking at him brought her comfort, brought her peace. The idea of being in this strange place without his presence frightened her far more than anything that had transpired so far.

John regarded her for a moment, eyes cool and assessing, something like surprise lighting them.

“For the time being, you will go with my assistant. But we will see each other again. Soon."

John's assistant indicated the door, and Victoria followed him out of the room. 

* * *

_Who was she?_

John frowned outside his window, lost now in an entirely different train of thought. He was far more unsettled by his visitor than he cared to admit to anyone, himself included. There were, after all, many things to be concerned about. The breach of security, for one.

All other considerations he would not even consider. Not until he had to.

How the devil did she get up here? Right in the heart of Nazi headquarters? Someone had to have seen her.

With sudden decision, he took a walk down to the surveillance office, where all the footage in the building was constantly being monitored. He walked into the darkened room filled with station after station of monitors, each manned by a soldier with a headset, phone and various other equipment. Here was one of the nerve centers of Reich surveillance monitoring. Monitor after monitor glowed in the darkness, each showing a different perspective of the entire building and its surrounding area. The commanding officer, seeing John, snapped to attention, offering him a 'heil Himmler.' He gave the man a return salute.

"Commander, I need to see the surveillance footage for the last two hours of my office and floor. I also want to see all exits and entrances that would lead to the elevators outside my office."

"Of course, Reichsmarschall!" He saluted again and signaled John to follow him into the viewing room. He collected the relevant footage and handed it to John, loading up the reel that covered the immediate area outside his office first into the viewer.

"That will be all, Commander," John said, looking the man up and down when he made no move to leave the room. "I think I can take it from here."

"Of course, Reichsmarschall." With another salute, John was finally alone.

This would be the first reel he needed to see, he thought. No matter how she might have gotten in, presuming she had not scaled the walls she would have had to come in past Metzger's desk. John watched until he saw the Major enter his office and then exit again with Victoria in tow. There was no sign of the woman before hand. No sign of intrusion. Nothing. Puzzled, he removed that reel and replaced it with one from inside his office, time stamping the precise moment she appeared. He swallowed hard. That was just it--she...appeared. She wasn't there, and then she was.

Stubbornly he went through all the reels, calculating the times she should be in each place. Watching a little before. A little after. Each reel came up negative. The only reel she appeared on was the one inside his office. Which meant only one thing.

She was a Traveler. Like Abendsen, and the Japanese Trade Minister, Tagomi. And the woman Mengele had interrogated. And Juliana Crain. There could be no question anymore of that.

But just WHO she was though, was another question entirely.

"Did you find what you were looking for, Reichsmarschall?"

"Yes, Commander, I believe I did," he handed the man back a pile of reels as he made to leave the area. "This one I need to keep for further inquiry."

"Of course, Reichsmarschall!" the Commander stated. "Return it when you wish."

"Thank you," he said, taking his leave of the man, the reel of footage from inside his office tucked up under his arm.

* * *

When Major Metzger returned to the office, John summoned him.

“Sir?”

“How is our…guest?”

“She is…distraught, Sir.”

“Distraught? Interesting choice of words, Major.”

“It is her own choice of words, Sir. She seems…disoriented.”

“Disoriented?” He nodded thoughtfully. “How so?”

“Everything. The street…cars…electricity…even the clothing she was provided with seems to have upset her. I had to demonstrate how everything worked."

"Define 'everything'."

"In her apartment. The lights. The refrigerator. The telephone and television. Even the toilet. I could hardly get her in the car, she was so terrified."

"I see. And you believed her, did you?"

"She was very convincing, Sir."

John chuckled. "What a perfect example of a non-answer. That is not what I asked you, Major. I asked you--did you believe her?"

"I--I did, Sir."

"I see," he said again with a raise of his eyebrows. "Is that all?"

"Only one more thing, Sir. She demanded—err, requested--me to ask you..." He cleared his throat. Clearly uncomfortable.

"Ask me what?" John said in his most patient voice.

"When you would see her again.”

John's eyebrows rose to his hairline and he chuckled in surprise. “Well. How very…unusual.”

“Do you know her, Sir?”

“Major?” He cocked an eyebrow sternly at his assistant.

“Sorry, Sir.” His aide-de-camp snapped to attention. “Please forgive the question.”

John nodded, eyes narrowing. What an interesting question for her to ask. It was not usual that he had a prisoner who so greatly valued his company. Usually they knew better. He would have to delve into the reason behind that one at a later time. Clearly though, the woman’s emotional condition seemed to have rattled Metzger. That was unfortunate. It belay a certain sentimentality—a weakness perhaps for the fairer sex—that could prove to be a liability in future. It was something he would have to keep an eye on.

John sighed. How he missed Erich Raeder. No one could ever take his place. Now he was forced to work with men he could scarcely trust, and that was a dangerous state of affairs, particularly with something this delicate. What he needed now he knew Erich could have provided, with discretion and loyalty. But this man? He wasn’t sure. But he didn’t really have much choice in the matter. He needed answers, and he needed them yesterday. He would have to frame this very carefully to ally the man’s suspicions as well as protect his own back.

“I have a little…research project for you.”

“Yes Sir?”

“Its something of a history project. I want you to bring me all the information you can find on a…William Lamb, 2nd Viscount Lord Melbourne. An English Prime Minister from the early 19th century. I want to know everything about him, and his relationship with Queen Victoria. And if you can bring me portraits of them both as well, that would be very helpful. But I need to see portraits of Queen Victoria…as a younger woman. Not a dowager grandmother queen.”

“As you wish Sir.”

“And look into the identity of our guest. See what you can find.”

“I’ll have it for you by this evening, Sir.”

“And Major...it goes without saying, that this is a matter of some delicacy. I need to understand this woman who barged in here today. I need to know who she is. Where she came from. And what her purpose is. You understand?”

“Completely Sir.”

“If anyone should ask you about your…task, you refer them to me. All you need to know is that this is a matter of Reich security, and you are acting under my orders.”

“Yes, Reichsmarschall.”

“Good. You may go.” He let his assistant get as far as the door before calling back to him again. “Any information on how she got in here today?”

Metzger stopped in his tracks. Turned on his heel.

Good. He had the proper amount of fear in his face. Very good. He should be afraid.

“Sir?”

“A random person, we know nothing about. Dressed in a long white nightgown. With no papers. No identification of any kind. Nothing but an antique watch. Just…materializes in my office this afternoon.”

The Major's throat moved.

“Reichsmarschall she never…”

“How did she get in here, Metzger?”

“I never saw her, Sir. I swear it!”

“What if she had had a weapon? Or a listening device? How did she get past you?” He let a thread of quiet menace infuse his voice.

“I will find out, Sir.”

“Yes, Major, you will. If for no other reason to insure it never happens again.”

“Yes, Reichsmarschall.” His assistant clicked his heels together and saluted him with a “Heil Himmler,” and was off.

John watched his aide leave with a sigh. Of course he knew already what the Major would find. But Metzger didn't know that. It would be an interesting test of loyalty to see what his aide-to-camp would tell him when John called for the report...if he would even mention the missing surveillance reel John had secreted in his desk. 

He stood against the window again, running a hand thoughtfully across his short clipped hair, gazing out over New York City, his thoughts taking on an entirely different train now. At least her threat potential had been neutralized. She was under twenty-four hour surveillance where she was, and he'd taken the precaution of assigning a few careful guards around the perimeter of her dormitory. If she tried to leave, or anyone else tried to visit her, he would know all about it.

Why then, did the thought of her disturb him so much? True, she was a puzzle, and an unsettling one. How many of these damned Travelers did he have in his city, anyway? But it wasn't just that. It had far more to do with her expressive eyes than he would like to admit. And something about the way she’d looked upon him that stayed in his thoughts. Softly, eagerly, as a woman looked upon a man she was in love with. Couldn’t get enough of. It was about the tone of her voice, how she'd reached out to touch his face, how she hadn't wanted to leave his presence.

He shook his head. It wasn’t like women didn’t look at him. He was no stranger to that. Perhaps…it was just that…it had been a long time since a woman had looked at him in just that way. There was an innocence to her expression. A complete lack of awe or fear which normally he seemed to inspire. And now that Helen had been gone for…no. He would not count the months. Perhaps he was more vulnerable to a pretty woman than he cared to admit right now.

Her interest in him seemed highly personal. But then, wasn’t that the mark of a good assassin? And what an effective assassin she would be, too. She did the broken winged bird routine even better than Juliana Crain. Did the Resistance really think that such games would work on him? Perhaps they were more desperate than he had given them credit for.

Whatever her purpose, whoever she was. He had to know more. It was a matter of Reich security. But it was more than that.

_What if she was who she said she was?_

The idea would not leave his mind. Could people travel in time, as well as into other worlds?

God, if that were true…

The possibilities would truly be endless. Not only for the Reich, but for himself as well. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In all seriousness, I really must thank Daphne_Fredriksen, Speechie22 and Redbourn for the conception of this idea. Daphne and Speechie22 for constantly encouraging me to try my hand at this, and to Redbourn for asking me to write a mashup. Without their combined persuasive skills, I doubt I would have had the courage to try this. I hope the product is worthy of their efforts!


	3. A Curious Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When John Smith begins his interrogation of Victoria, he gets more than he bargains for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “But I don’t want to go among mad people,” Alice remarked.  
> “Oh, you can’t help that,” said the Cat: “we’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad.”  
> “How do you know I’m mad?” said Alice.  
> “You must be,” said the Cat, “or you wouldn’t have come here.” 
> 
> —Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

**Chapter 3—A Curious Conversation**

Victoria gazed bleakly around her new environment. She had seen things today that had frightened her out of her wits. She had ridden inside a great metal carriage that was not pulled by a horse at all, but driven by some kind of internal engine, like a locomotive--the likes of which Albert would have gleefully given his right arm to see, let alone experience. The buildings here were impossibly tall. Impossibly close together. And yet her living quarters--impossibly small. And this…this…shocking garment she had been forced to wear, with its skirts very narrow and short, exposing the whole of her lower legs! Her slippers had heels in them, which she admitted she liked the effect of, as it made her feel and look just that much taller. But she had to admit, slippers and all, the whole effect was quite indecent.

John Smith’s assistant had shown her how to run the taps. Turn on electric lights. Had even explained the impressive water closet facilities. But these miracles were hardly sufficient compensation for what she had suffered. And so Victoria sat in her apartment, surrounded by all the wonders of the future, her hands folded in her lap primly, feeling lonely and scared, and wishing most fervently to be home again.

Only Lord M’s pocket watch gave her any comfort. She stroked its smooth surface again and again, thinking of the man who had owned it. Yearning for him until well after dark. She knew not how long she had remained there when she heard a rapping on her door.

“You may enter,” she called.

It was him. It was John Smith.

Victoria sucked in a breath instantly, and was on her feet, the familiar old buzzing excitement that she had always felt for him filling her as she patted at her hair and smoothed her dress quite subconsciously. She reminded herself that this wasn’t her Lord M, this tall, dark man who filled a foreign uniform and seemed in fact rather threatening. But the reminder did little to change her expectations.

As she stood there, breathless, it suddenly seemed all worth it--coming to this strange place the way she had. For the sight of him…she would have done it all over again, willingly. Just to be in his presence again. Perhaps…she could forget for a moment that it was not Lord M. Perhaps…she wet her lips expectantly.

He stood in her doorway for a moment, shrouded in darkness, his eyes the only light, glittering at her from within, rather like a jungle cat, assessing its prey. He was disconcerting, this man who looked so much like the man she loved and had lost. And yet she was drawn to him anyway.

“Miss Buckingham,” he stated simply in the voice so like and so unlike Lord M. “I must advise you that it can be a very dangerous habit, not answering your own door. What if I had been here to harm you?”

“I am sorry. I am not in the habit of answering doors. Generally they are answered for me.”

“By your butler, perchance?” His voice was mocking.

“Yes of course. But clearly, he is not here.”

“Clearly,” he repeated. “And if I had wanted to harm you, I could have done so very easily. You do realize that.”

“And if you wanted to harm me, I doubt my answering the door could have prevented you. In point of fact it would have only placed me in closer proximity to you and allowed you greater ease of accomplishing your task."

He huffed a laugh, and it was so like…it hurt her heart.

“True enough. Unless you had a weapon. Or I did.”

“I am not in the habit of carrying weapons either. Are they generally carried by the ladies here? It sounds very much as though I am to expect to be a victim either way. Especially as I am not even allowed to lock my door.”

"Is that a complaint?" His eyebrows shot up.

"Of course it is. I am surrounded by strangers, after all. Did it not occur to you that I would not wish for a little security? Or at least the illusion of it that locking my door would grant me. Do you treat all your guests this way?"

“I do believe I’m being chastised!” He said with a laugh. “I can't remember the last time that happened. I see now why the poor old Major came back the way he did. I’ve never seen him so rattled. Perhaps I should give you a job in the SS…put you to work training recruits.” There was amusement in his eyes as he stepped farther into the room, and her breath caught at how his figure filled the small space. Suddenly her apartment seemed far too small. Far too claustrophobic. Too tiny to contain such a man. He closed the door quickly behind him before turning on the electric lights. “I can assure you, I will not let anything happen to you,” he said as she as she blinked several times in the harsh brightness. “You are well protected here. So long as you are…truthful…with me.”

As her eyes adjusted, she drank him in shamelessly, taking in every detail of his appearance, so starved had she been for the sight of him for so long. He had added a long, black overcoat to his uniform that was made of leather. There were circles under his eyes, she noticed, and he seemed tired, despite the fact he was trying to intimidate her. In fact his demeanor was more careworn than he had been before—rather, than Lord M had been before, she reminded herself. Lord M had been a man who wore the mantle of leadership lightly and with graceful self-effacement. This man had the look of Atlas—carrying the world on his shoulders.

“Why ever should I be anything less than truthful?”

“Oh well, I imagine if you had something to hide, you would be…very resourceful when it came to explanations.” He gave her a penetrating look and then sat down at her dining room table, the chair beneath him ridiculously small beneath his powerful frame.

“Well as it happens I have nothing to hide,” she said archly, resuming her own seat, still unable to take her eyes from him. Still unable to stop herself loving the sight of him.

He tilted his head to the side as he regarded her, crossing one leg over the other, his gaze a mix of curiosity and suspicion.

But not recognition. He looked at her as a man would look at a stranger. And it hurt her heart. He was so harsh, this man. So much so that he seemed carved from ice. Such a contrast to her darling Lord M. It hurt her heart to see him this way. And yet she still could not look away. 

“I see you have accepted that I am not your Lord Melbourne,” he said, still with a slight mockery in his voice. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“Lord M is dead,” she whispered, feeling the tears slip down her cheeks.

“Lord M…yes. That is what you called him, isn’t it? Your…nickname for him? Given out of affection, I believe.”

“Yes.”

“How much affection?”

She stroked the surface of his watch, her heart squeezing in pain.

“I loved him,” she whispered, and brought his watch to her lips. “Oh, how I loved him.”

“History records he was like a father to you. Is that true?”

“No,” she said without even looking up. “He was not a father. He was the first man I ever loved.”

“A man so much older than yourself?”

“Yes,” she said without hesitation. “I adored him. Everything about him. That included.”

“Did he return your love?”

She stroked the watch as gently as if it was his face.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I believe he did.”

“Who are you really?”

She looked up, startled by the harsh, abrupt question.

“Not that this doesn’t make a fascinating little story,” he said with a lift of his brows. “But you barged into my office this afternoon. In your…night attire. Claiming to be a long dead Queen, blinking those big blue eyes up at me and giving me your best wounded bird impersonation. I don’t know who you think I am that I would sit here and fall for such an outlandish story. But I can assure you I don’t buy it. Not for a moment. Now,” he said, leaning forward. “I need to know how you got past my guards. How you got into the Reich. You see, I have no information on you at all. Its as if you don’t exist. And that’s clearly not possible, because here you sit.”

Victoria gazed into the face she knew and loved so well. And found herself suddenly…frightened.

“And that means you had help,” he continued quietly. “Very good help. Who knew how to get through all our defenses, right into my office. Threatening my personal safety. As the Reichsmarschall of America, you might forgive me if I’m…a little…suspicious…of these circumstances. Now you might be a young woman looking for a very particular kind of attention from me, in which case you are misguided, but fairly harmless. Or you might be a threat. And I don’t know which. So…” he shrugged. “I’m waiting.”

She shook her head. “Do you not think that if I had help, such as you have outlined it, that they would have sent me clothed in the proper attire? With the proper accoutrements to offset your suspicions? Why on earth would I have appeared before you in nothing but my shift, with the tale that I have to tell, if I wished in some way to cause you harm?” she took a deep breath. “If I had had such a scheme proposed to me, Sir, I can assure you I should have called it folly, and never been party to it. Even if I had the faintest idea of who you were or why anyone should want to harm you.”

His eyebrows shot up at her argument and she saw the precise moment he accepted the sense of what she had said, and acknowledged it.

“Very well,” he conceded. “Then tell me the truth. Who are you?”

Victoria wrung her hands. “I have already answered that. But as you wish it, I shall answer again.”

* * *

His eyes fixed on her hands. The way she wrung them as she spoke. They were her only outward sign of emotion as she gave him her story again. He found himself contemplating those hands as she continued to repeat the same story he had already heard. Verbatim.

Not for the first time today, something at the back of his mind worried him as he looked on this young woman. Something about her was familiar. Something about her movements…her speech…that he couldn’t define. As he stared at her hands he felt…something stir inside of him. He focused his attention on her story instead.

She had been sitting in her bedchamber. Gazing out over the night. Sleepless. Her husband Albert was away from home. But her thoughts had tended to another man, whom she had loved and lost before him. A man whom she’d never grieved properly. She’d found his watch…she’d thought of him and…things in her room began to rattle. Then she’d ended up here. In his office. She had no other explanation.

Rattle? John Smith frowned, cursing in the privacy of his mind. Rattling objects was a common denominator just before a Traveler—traveled. That was confirmation then. As if the video reels had not been confirmation enough.

She _had_ come from another world. But had she come from another time?

He felt himself stir in another way as he gazed at her. She was dressed simply, but attractively now. Metzger had procured something for her to wear from God only knew where. He found his mind and attention wandering. Her curves were girlish. Her figure youthful. Not as mature and curvy as John preferred his women, usually. Helen, with her full, ripe breasts and her luscious hips was much more his type. But this young woman with her brilliant eyes, her winsome beauty, her fragility he found…attractive. And as he gazed at her the sensation that he’d known her somewhere before intensified. Deepened.

Impossible. It was impossible. It was just…deprivation. It had to be. So many months of enforced abstinence, along with his marriage troubles, the loss of Thomas…it had him feeling disoriented. Desperate probably. Too much of that sort of thing fed into a man’s psyche, ate away at him. Made him susceptible to feminine wiles. There was no question that she was lovely. That in another life somewhere, he could have…would have wanted her. But that was nonsense. And he was not about to let this little woman get to him. No matter how she batted those pretty blues at him.

She had finished speaking, he realized with some chagrin, and he had not noticed. She gazed at him now in a breathless way, as if she couldn’t tear her eyes from his. John was annoyed to discover he could not break her gaze either, and for a long moment, they stared into each other. She gave him the impression of a flower, soaking up energy from the sun.

It was all very flattering. And he would hardly be a man if he wasn’t tempted.

And for a moment as he gazed at her he contemplated it. It would almost be worth it, he decided. It had been a long time, after all, since he and Helen had lain together. Why the hell should he not? Helen had left him, after all. Was he supposed to live like a monk the rest of his days?

The thought brought on a surge of anger. Resentment. Yes, she had left him. Him, specifically. And before that, she’d made a pass at her therapist. Why exactly should he be faithful? He knew plenty of men who, under the same circumstances, would consider themselves free agents. No one would look down on him for it. Not even Helen could blame him. And if she tried, she had no right.

God, what man on earth wouldn’t happily step into the breach, let her pour it out all over him?

He dropped his eyes, breaking the spell. Closed them once in pain. No. No one would blame him. No one except himself. He had not yet sunk so low that he took advantage of vulnerable women. And he did not intend to start now.

He looked back at her, with a lift of his brows and a shrug of his shoulders, his face again a wall. Smooth. Impenetrable. No handholds. No weaknesses. He was the Reichsmarschall of America. Unflappable. And she was just a lonely, lovely little woman from God only knew where…and even when. He was not about to give her the upper hand.

“Give me one good reason why I should believe you.” He said calmly.

“Because I am not in the habit of telling falsehoods!” She sprang to her feet, her body vibrating with outrage. A rather imperious outrage at that, he thought as he steepled his fingers.

How very curious.

“Miss Buckingham, I have a very serious question to put to you. And it is important that you answer it truthfully. You cooperate with me, and I may be able to help you. But if you continue to lie—to spin these… fantasies--then I will be forced to take action against you. Do you understand?”

She gasped in genuine shock.

“How dare you speak such a way to me!”

He tilted his head and regarded her. She truly had not expected him to take that tack.

“I will speak to you in any way I wish,” he stood too, slowly unfolding his long limbs from the chair he’d been sitting on as if he had all the time in the world. Then before he could even question himself, he moved as if by compulsion toward her, closing the gap between them until he was standing right over her, until he could see her pulse fluttering at the base of her swan-like throat, and hear her ragged, shallow breathing. No, he was not in the habit of taking advantage of women. But that did not mean that he might not use her obvious attraction to him to his own advantage, to extract information from her. “And you will answer with the truth. Do you understand?”

She nodded once, her breath catching.

Oh yes. Whatever else she was, she wanted him. There was no mistaking it.

There was a delicious tension running back and forth between them. Both of their bodies thrumming like live wire. John found to his surprise that he was far more affected by her than he thought he would be. Far more…aroused.

He gave her a predatory smile.

“What do you want with me?” He whispered, letting his breath fan the shell of her ear warmly, enjoying the involuntary shiver it caused her.

Oh yes. Seduction was much more fun than inflicting physical pain. It was a beautiful torture, sublime in its own way. Enjoyable, effective, and as long as it did not go too far, relatively harmless. He should let himself interrogate female prisoners far more often. Perhaps now, he would.

“Why did you come to my office today?” He breathed the words against her throat. His lips hovering just above her skin. Close…so close. But not quite touching.

Her eyes closed and she let out a little moan. Electricity surged through him. It was intoxicating, this game. He found himself breathing hard as well.

“Who do you work for?” He continued, forcing the words through his lips. “What is your objective? Did you come to my office today to kill me? Or are you someone’s idea of a tempting little morsel that might just seduce me into giving you information? Or access?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” she said, eyes closing, head dropping backward. “Why on earth should I want to kill you? How can you even ask that of me? I told you the truth already.”

“Come, Miss Buckingham. You didn’t expect me to believe that little fairy tale of yours, did you?” He pitched his voice low. Desire was rolling off of her in waves. Rolling through him as well.

“Oh my God…” she whispered, and bit her lip.

John frowned. It was all wrong. There was something too…artless…about her. A trained operative would be much cooler under this kind of questioning. Would attempt to mask her reaction to him for fear of giving away something. Or would turn the seduction around on him--not allow herself to be seduced but to be the seductress and maintain the upper hand. But Victoria simply moaned and bit her lip, visibly trembling and shivering. Making no move to disguise her arousal, no move to seduce him.

“You know, I could make things…very unpleasant for you,” he continued, moving his body closer, almost flush with hers, but again, just out of reach. Enough that she could feel his heat, and he could feel hers. “Or…if you tell me the truth, I would be very grateful. I would be in a position to reward you. Very highly.” He breathed in the scent of lilacs in her hair as she moaned again. 

“Or are you just…a pretty little slut, hmm? Maybe you have a bet with your friends? Can you seduce the Reichsmarschall, in his time of weakness.”

This had an immediate effect. 

“Are you calling me a…a harlot?” She took a deep breath, and gathering herself she stepped away from him. “A whore?”

John felt surprisingly cold as he straightened up to face her outrage. He wanted her back again, he realized with some shock. He’d been enjoying her proximity far more than he’d realized.

“Did you think I am offering myself up as your mistress?”

“Are you?” He asked calmly.

To his surprise, Victoria stepped up into him and slapped him across the face with surprising force—hard enough to send his face rocking sideways. He stared at her in abject shock. Had this woman just dared to strike him? He could feel the print of her small hand throbbing on his cheek.

“How _dare_ you!” She sobbed. “How dare you…you are _nothing_ like him! And yet…you wear his face! How can that be? Are you a devil sent to torment me in my sorrow? Have I not suffered enough? I have answered _every_ question you have put to me faithfully, and you have _not_ believed me! Now it is time for _you_ to answer _my_ questions! Who are you? How did I get here? Why am I here? And how am I to _bear_ gazing upon you, wishing you were him, when every _second_ I am here you remind me that you are not? I thought nothing could be worse than losing him! Nothing could possibly come close! But this is a special kind of hell I have come into! I don't know who you are. I don't care! Please…I want to go home. Just let me go home!” She collapsed into her chair and covered her face with her hands, sobbing.

He decided to overlook the insults and the slap for the moment in favor of pressing his advantage in interrogation. She was starting to crack.

“Where is home?” He asked ruthlessly.

“London, England! To Buckingham Palace! I’ve told you that!”

“I could send you there. But I don’t think you’d like it very much. Buckingham Palace is now the primary Nazi headquarters for the former Kingdom of Great Britain. It is the residence of several top ranking party officials.”

“I want to go home! I need to go home! Back to 1850. I don’t belong here!”

“That, I’m afraid, is quite impossible. I can't send you home. I didn’t bring you here—you traveled here yourself. Your best option now—your only option—is to cooperate with me fully. Do you understand me, Victoria?” His voice was softer than he intended.

Pain and fear crossed her eyes in rapid succession as she gazed at him. He saw the moment she swallowed both and straightened her spine.

If she wasn’t actually Queen Victoria, she was very good at giving the impression that she was. His curiosity deepened. There was something very stately about her. The way she carried herself and spoke with authority. Could she really be who she said she was? She had, after all, traveled to his world from another. If he could believe that she could do that, then why shouldn’t he believe she could travel through time as well?

“You’ve used that word before,” she said. “Nazi. It sounds German. But it is not a word that I have heard before.”

“Do you speak German?”

“My mother is German,” she said in the language, “As is my husband, my governess, and several members of my family. I daresay I speak it far better than you.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You’ve gone beyond me, I’m afraid.”

She repeated it for him archly in English, and he found himself huffing a laugh in amusement.

“And yet you are unfamiliar with the Nazi party. I find that hard to believe.” He regarded her for a moment. He took a deep breath and decided to humor her. “Nazi is an abbreviation for the National Socialist German Workers Party. They rose to power before the war, and now are the dominant power in the world.” He narrowed his eyes at her, assessing. She took this information in with all the appearance of someone learning something for the first time.

“What war was this?”

“World War II. Fought some twenty years ago now.”

“And that band on your arm. I see that symbol everywhere.”

“The Swastika is a cherished symbol of Germany, the Aryan race, and all we stand for within the Reich.”

“And what is that, may I ask?”

John sighed, wrapped a hand around his head. This was going nowhere. And he would achieve nothing by giving her a detailed list of Nazi values right at the moment.

“Miss Buckingham, as much as I’d love to sit here and give you a history lesson, I’m afraid I don’t have the time.” He moved toward the door.

“You are leaving me?” She stood again, hands clasped nervously before her. Wringing her hands again.

The motion captured his eyes. Again there was a flash of familiarity. The gesture disturbed him.

_He had not liked to see her in such distress._

He blinked. Where the hell had that thought come from?

“I am. It’s getting late after all.” He heard himself say.

“But what am I to do?”

He shrugged. “I suggest you get some rest. Tomorrow will be a long day.”

“What do you mean to do with me?”

He blinked at her again, declining to answer her question directly. "As long as you do what I say, we will have no problems.”

“When will I see you again?”

He almost smiled, but he caught himself in time. Even after her interrogation, she wanted to see him again?

“Do you wish to see me again?” He heard himself say. From where it came, John did not know. Nor did he know what to do with a sudden bubble of complicated feelings when he looked at her. He must really be missing Helen more than he thought.

“Very much,” she said, swallowing hard, her posture ramrod straight as she pulled at her hands. “I am sorry I struck you.”

“Think no more of it.” He said, deliberately putting his hand on the knob. Something had shifted between them. Something had shifted inside of himself. He felt suddenly confused, disoriented. And definitely like he needed to leave. Now. 

“Thank you,” he heard her say softly behind him.

“For what?” he half turned, not daring to turn around fully.

“For being so kind. For finding me a place to stay and…coming to see me?”

He dropped his head. It was quite possibly the first time anyone had thanked him for interrogating them. And the last time he’d been called ‘kind’ was by Juliana Crain. The same Juliana Crain he’d recently shot trying to prevent her from traveling…

 _If only she knew,_ he thought, _if only she knew who she was talking to…what I am capable of…._

He turned back to the door. Somewhere deep inside himself, John Smith felt shame. Shame and…more. More feelings he didn’t understand, or know what to do with. Anymore than he knew what to do with this moment. This woman, who had somehow touched something inside of him, awakened him in a way that was dangerous for them both.

He turned the knob with decision.

“Think nothing of it,” he said gruffly, “Major Metzger will call for you at 0:800 hours in the morning. You will accompany him. Do you understand?”

“And where shall he take me?”

“He will bring you to me,” he said.

Relief flooded her features. Damnation, didn’t the woman know what dangerous waters she swam in? She should be feeling anything but relief. Further unsettling proof she was telling the truth, he thought. No woman who knew him, by reputation or otherwise, would ever be able to even feign such a reaction.

“Get some rest,” he advised. “But don’t go anywhere. If you leave this building, I will know about it. And I will be forced to take action.” He left her then without a backwards glance, closing her door behind him.

He stopped into the security room to make sure all cameras and audio were working. He left instructions with the officer to report in the morning and bring him all the surveillance tapes related to her room. Video and audio.

On the way out, he met his men at the door.

“Set up a perimeter of the building,” he instructed. “Miss Buckingham is in apartment 3A, that faces the back. Station extra guards around those windows, and at least two in the front. She is to receive no visitors apart from me, and she is not to leave the premises without escort. Anything that moves in or out of this building, intercept, and report directly to me.”

“Understood, Reichsmarschall!”

With a nod of acknowledgment he climbed into the back of his car and drove off into the night, wondering exactly when and how she had managed to get the better of him.


	4. Entanglement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Victoria tucks in for a sleepless night, John's questions lead him to the only person who can give him answers--Hawthorne Abendsen.
> 
> *Profanity warning. Not a lot, but there is some.*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I wonder if I've been changed in the night. Let me think. Was I the same when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remember feeling a little different. But if I'm not the same, the next question is 'Who in the world am I?' Ah, that's the great puzzle!” 
> 
> ― Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

**Chapter 4—Entanglement**

Victoria sank back into her chair after he’d left. It didn’t seem to matter that this man John Smith treated her coldly. She still felt the loss of his presence as keenly as if he truly were her Lord M. God, this place—wherever she had come to—it was truly like a type of purgatory. To have him near again…to feel him touch her…to stand so close…to gaze into her soul with his great green eyes…it brought it all back. Everything. And suddenly she was a maiden again, young and innocent and full of wide-eyed curiosity about the world, about men, and about her dashing Lord M most especially. How was it possible for this man Smith to be so like him, and yet a completely different man entirely?

With a sigh, she began to ready herself for bed. It was a lot to get used to. Light or dark at the touch of a button. Having to dress oneself. Feed oneself. Answer one’s own door. Accepting the fact that she had somehow found herself stranded in the future, with a man who looked exactly like Lord M but was not him, to say nothing of how on earth she was to get home again. 

But that would have to be a problem for another day. 

For now, she had no choice but to acclimate to where she found herself, for it was far too late to attempt to leave tonight, even if she had the slightest idea of how to go about it. And even though nothing made sense to her at all, she still found herself loathe to think of leaving just at the moment anyway. For what awaited her at home, but the needs of all and sundry upon her? And the coldness of her marriage bed and her husband's indifference. Whereas here...true, he was not Lord M. But oh, he was a sight for sore eyes nonetheless. Was it really necessary that she should hurry herself away from him again? For as soon as she made it back, she knew she'd never see him again. Therefore why did she have to leave him so soon?

She slipped out of her foreign, strange clothes and back into her own shift nightdress gratefully. At least in her night attire she could feel normal again. There was some comfort to be had in that, at least. She took out her own hair pins and brushed her hair before the mirror in the water closet. She finished this, then experimented with the sink, turning the knobs on and off, scalding her hand in the process. She did the same to the bathing tub. It had a water pipe overhead—called a shower, apparently. It also had hot and cold water. How ingenious. She would have to experience this in the morning for sure.

For the next half hour, she walked around her tiny living area, experimenting and exploring this world and all its marvels. A cold box that kept food from spoiling. A sink in the kitchen with hot and cold taps as well. A small stove for cooking, with an oven attached. And yes, the chunky dials on the side apparently could turn the fire on and off. It was all quite remarkable, even if it was quite strange, to have one's kitchen area a part of one's living space. At least if one was expected to fend for oneself, it was far easier to do so with so many helpful inventions.

On the table was a curious little device with a sort of handle on the top that mystified her at first. There were numbers 0-9 on the base, in the center of which was the same symbol she had asked John about--the swastika. A great clear wheel set on top of the lot of them, with holes over each number. When she lifted the handle to her ear, she heard a low buzzing sound coming from within. She was poking at the numbers beneath the wheel, observing the holes were about finger-sized, when a voice spoke to her, and asked her what number she would like to dial. She hastily replaced the handle onto the box and stepped away with a shudder.

Further explorations of her environment were more ordinary. There was also a strange box with knobs on it at one end of the sitting room. She turned the handle and a picture emerged of a man talking. Hastily, she turned it off again, backing away from that, as well.

Finally she returned to the cold box and emerged again with a pitcher of delightfully chilled water. She found a glass in a nearby cupboard and poured herself a glassful, replacing the pitcher into the cold box again. In a cabinet she found some bread already prepared and sliced, as well as some other boxes and containers of what appeared to be food. Everything was foreign and therefore unappealing, even if she knew how to use the equipment provided for her to cook herself a meal. So she took the bread and spread it with some butter she found in the cold box, and ate a few slices. It was a very good, if basic, meal. Though she did not feel in the least like eating, she felt better for having something in her stomach in any case.

She replaced all the food back where she had found it, cleared away and washed her dishes, and then made her way to the bedchamber with a glass of water, pausing to take Lord M’s watch off of its place at the dining table where she had left it. Upon no account would she leave it out here overnight. She placed her glass of water on the nearby stand and climbed into bed, cradling the watch, and turned out the lights, stroking it's cool surface as she fell asleep.

It was still in her hand when she woke some hours later and sat up in bed. Her dreams had been troubling, and once she was awake, she was loathe to fall back into them again. 

Giving up entirely, she crossed back into the living area again. She had seen on her previous explorations something she wanted very much just now. Going to the desk in the main sitting area, she rummaged around in the drawer and came up with what she needed. Grabbing a book off the small table in the center of the room, she returned to bed.

Yes. This was just the thing, she thought, as she propped herself up with pillows, balancing the book on her lap and turning on the lamp near her bed. Drawing was always soothing to her. It was also helpful in ordering one's thoughts. She lost herself in the task before her, giving herself to the lines as they swept across the page. Life took shape very satisfactorily beneath her pencil, and for a time, even if she was not sleeping, she was at least at peace.

* * *

John Smith did not go straight home. It wasn’t as if there was anyone waiting for him there anyway. Instead he went back to headquarters. Might as well get caught up on a few things.

He worked half-heartedly for an hour or so, chain-smoking his way through half a pack of cigarettes in the process and drinking all that was left in the brandy decanter of his drinks globe.

But try as he might, he could not escape her.

_…“You are nothing like him! And yet you wear his face!”…_

He took a long, deep drag on his cigarette. Set aside the report on the Resistance. Opened again the report he’d asked Metzger for. Here was the portrait of young Victoria. She was the spitting image of the woman he’d just interviewed.

_…“Are you a devil sent to torment me in my sorrow? Have I not suffered enough?”…_

He opened the envelope containing Melbourne’s portrait. He gazed at it a long moment. Stood. Went to the window. Downed the last glass of brandy. Held his cigarette with shaking hands to his lips. Shook his head in denial.

It was impossible. No two people could look so much alike without being related somehow. Was the woman Victoria a descendant of the Queen? Was he somehow descended from Melbourne?

Further investigation proved that to be impossible. Melbourne’s children had preceded him in death. No. He could not be descended.

_...“What do you mean to do with me?”..._

He exhaled long and slow, the smoke fogging the window before him. Damned if he knew. He wanted to do several things simultaneously. Run away from her. Ship her somewhere—anywhere—away from him. At the same time, he wanted to take up watch outside her apartment himself, to make sure no one threatened her safety. Wanted to fold her into his arms, lose himself in the scent of lilacs in her hair and make a series of wild promises he had no way of being able to keep.

What the hell was happening to him?

He stubbed his cigarette out in its ashtray with decision. He needed answers. And within the next ten minutes had left his office for the only place he could find them--down in the detention cells in the basement of the building.

“Lieutenant,” he said as the officer on duty, a younger man named Simons, stumbled to attention. “I need to speak with the prisoner Abendsen.”

He followed the young green lieutenant down a darkened corridor, their steps echoing and reverberating off of the metal doors, the concrete floor and ceiling. The door opened with a loud clink of metal and a grating of reluctant hinges. He entered the dark room and stood dispassionately while the lieutenant struck on the bright, overhead lights. Abendsen, asleep on the cot in the center of the room, stirred groggily.

“Get up!” The Lieutenant snapped.

John’s eyes narrowed as Abendsen groaned and reluctantly woke himself from his sleep.

“Oh for God’s sake!” He grumbled. “It’s the middle of the damn night! What do you want with me now? _‘Who's there, i' the name of Beelzebub?'_ ” He turned and sighed to see John. “ _‘By the pricking of my thumbs/Something wicked this way comes.'_ ”

“You will address the Reichsmarschall with respect!” Simons advanced on Abendsen, but John stopped him with a hand on the arm.

“That’s enough, Lieutenant,” John said dispassionately, waiving him off. “I’ll take it from here. You may wait outside.” His eyes narrowed.

“Don’t you ever sleep, John?” Abendsen said when the Lieutenant had left and closed the door behind him. “Or have you grown a conscience after all?”

“Just a few questions for you. Then you can return to your sleep.” He said impatiently, dismissing his captive's attempts to bait him.

“Well,” Abendsen said, sitting up and rubbing his neck. “By all means, ask away. It’s always a pleasure being my jailer’s counselor. Particularly since you are my wife's jailer, as well. How is Caroline?”

"Fine. So long as you do what is asked of you."

Abendsen dropped his head, gesturing in an exaggerated way that John should continue.

“These Travelers,” John continued nonplussed, “the ones that come to us from other worlds. Have any of them ever come from a different time, as well as a different place?”

Abendsen sat up straighter, his eyes sparking with interest.

“ _’Now entertain conjecture of a time,/When creeping murmur and the pouring dark/Fill the wide vessel of the universe....’_ ” He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “What has happened?”

John stood and contemplated Abendsen for a moment. But finally conceded. He needed information. This man was possibly the only one who could give it to him. So taking a deep breath, John told him about Victoria. How she appeared, and who she claimed to be, and who she had mistaken him for.

When he had finished, Abendsen whistled long and low between his teeth.

“Do you believe her?”

“She has no papers. No cameras saw her enter the building. She doesn’t--exist. The footage from my office shows that she was not there one moment, and the next moment, she was.”

“I’ll be damned.”

“Could she be a Traveler?” John asked, then shook his head. “No. Could she be who she says she is? Could she be here from another time as well as place?”

“She very well could be. _’The time is out of joint,’_ John.” He shook his head. “ _’Something is rotten in the state of Denmark’_. That great monstrosity of yours was never meant to be constructed. _Die Nebenwelt?_ Who knows what damage it’s already done to the fabric of the universe at large, what cosmic repercussions there will be as a result of you people tampering with things you can’t possibly understand or control. If Queen Victoria of England is here…if she has traveled through time and the universe to your doorstep…you’ve got a bigger problem on your hands than you can even imagine. Traveling takes concentration. Fixation. It takes something—or someone--on the other side who draws the Traveler in. _‘Why of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, does she walk into_ yours?’” Abendsen peered at John thoughtfully. “Out of all the possibilities that exist…why here? Why now?”

“I don’t know,” he said, throwing up his hands in a gesture of defeat, shaking his head.

“I’ll tell you what it isn’t. It isn’t random.”

“Could she be someone else? Could it be a ruse?”

“I don’t know, you tell me. You’re the one who’s interviewed her. What does your gut tell you is true?”

John looked at Abendsen a long moment. This had been what he’d been afraid of. Half of him had been afraid Abendsen would take him absolutely seriously. Would take no time at all to believe that Victoria was who she said she was. And if Abendsen took it for truth, with all his knowledge of the alternate worlds he'd experienced in his vast collection of reels, that would leave him no choice but to do the same. But what then did that leave him with?

The implications were too ground-shaking, and either way, he did not care for his options. To discover Victoria was an impostor would mean he would have no choice but to arrest her. And if she was not an impostor? 

What was his connection to her that drew her into his office, with only him there? She'd been thinking of Lord Melbourne when she'd Traveled. Lord Melbourne, who looked like he could have been his twin brother...

Was reincarnation possible? Was he Melbourne, or was he himself? Was he somehow both?

“She’s got to you, hasn’t she?” Abendsen said, divining John's thoughts. “I’ll be damned.”

“This is impossible. It’s all impossible!” He shook his head, walked away. Wrapped a hand behind his neck and contemplated the concrete construction of the cell. Shaking his head. It could not be true. It just could not…

“Is that what you came down here to wake me up out of my sleep to get me to tell you? That this was impossible? That you were taken in by the wiles of a beautiful woman? I think we both know better than that.” Abendsen inclined his head. “C’mon, John. You’re not that thick. You don’t need me to tell you what you already know. Put your own damned pieces together.”

But John was shaking his head. “But I am not him! How could I be someone I am not! How could I have gone all my life without knowing it? It doesn't make sense!"

“What makes you so sure? The world is a lot bigger than you think it is. The universe is bigger than you think. What is to say who any of us really are? Who we have been? Who we will become? Who else we are currently, somewhere out there? The possibilities are endless. Infinite.”

“No. I don’t believe in reincarnation. I don’t.”

"Occam’s Razor, John! What is the most obvious conclusion?” Abendsen left his bed and came to stand before him, peering up into his face. “She travels in search of Lord Melbourne and finds _you_ now what the _hell_ do you _think_ that’s supposed to mean?”

He covered his face and backed away.

“She mistook you for him, didn’t she? You even look like him, John!”

His mind raced, his logical self fighting tooth and nail to hold onto reality. To hold onto his sense of self. To the world as he had always known it to be, even as he felt it running through his fingers.

“If you’re so sure she’s lying, why didn’t you arrest her? Hmm? Bring her down here to your little fun house? Beat the truth out of her—or starve it out. Or maybe use electric shocks--”

“--NO!” The word exploded out of him. Left him blinking at Abendsen in shock. The thought was so revolting to him he felt physically ill.

“Why not?” Abendsen pressed on, his voice nearly a whisper, moving in for the kill. “You’ve never thought twice about it before. Man, woman, child—anyone who gets in your way. Threatens your precious Reich, or your cushy little existence you wouldn’t _hesitate_ to do it you son of a _bitch!_ Why start now, huh? What’s so different about this woman that you _balk_ at the thought of giving her what you so casually dish out everywhere else!”

"I don't know!" His breath was coming fast. He no longer even saw Abendsen in the room. He shook his head to clear it.

_…Rooks. Rooks circling overhead. A wooded area…the crunching of the leaves beneath her footsteps heralds her arrival. She approaches…he knows it is her…he can feel her presence…his heart squeezes in pain. It has come to it at last. There will be no avoiding it now…_

John found himself up against a wall, blinking furiously to clear his vision. He stared at Abendsen in shock. In fear.

“You’re entangled with her, John. Actions at a distance can still have impact one upon the other, without ever touching. Action and reaction. You at one end. She at the other. Both moving together in concert. Both needing the other, across time and space. Why else should she disturb you so profoundly? You are not a weak man. Not even for a pretty face. No, it takes far more than that to rattle you. And I suspect she rattled you good, or you wouldn’t be here right now.”

He shook his head. He could not…it could not be true!

“When you looked up and saw her today,” Abendsen continued, slowly, with something like understanding in his eyes. “Did you find that certain things just…triggered…in your mind?” He snapped his fingers. “Like fragments of half-remembered dreams…tatters of odd feelings coming over you without any explanation…” He nodded, assessing. “You care for her and you don’t even know why, do you? You feel protective of her. As protective as you do of your own wife and family. Protective, and more. But she isn’t your wife. And you only just met. Or have you?”

John took a ragged breath. “How? How could that be true? How could any of this be true?”

“You know other worlds exist.”

“Yes. “

“And you know for a fact it is possible to travel from one world to another.”

“Yes but whyyyy?? Why her? Why here? Why now? Why _me?_ ” He ran a distraught hand through his hair and looked around himself. “ _Why_ is she here? She should not be here! It is not _safe_ for her here!”

“Do you hear yourself?” Abendsen said, head canted to one side, looking at John as if he wasn’t quite sure who he was looking at anymore. “How do you know that?” he whispered. “Why is she not safe here?”

He shook his head trying to clear it. But the more he searched for clarity, the more confused he became.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

“It’s simple, John. Lord Melbourne died, but Victoria’s love for him never did. She loves him still. With a love powerful enough to transcend time and space, and send her hurtling through both towards _you._ That can only mean one thing.” He inclined his head in John’s direction and returned to his cot with a sigh. “As I said. You are entangled. One to the other. She sat alone in her room and reached out through all the universe for her other half, and found you. What a shame for her to find you so altered from the good man that she remembers.”

He felt the air whoosh from his lungs. The air in the dark cell closed in around him…he felt…fragmented…lost…in pain…

_…“You are nothing like him! And yet…you wear his face!”…_

Stumbling, half-blind he turned for the door. He must get out of here. Out of this underground hole.

_…“Are you a devil sent to torment me in my sorrow?”…_

“She has to go back, John.”

The words were softly spoken, but they cut right through the chaos of his thoughts, right through him. He stopped in his tracks. Hand in the air to knock on the door.

“She’s the Queen of England for her time. And one of the most important historical figures of the last two centuries. She has to go back. Regardless of what you discover about who you really are. Or how she makes you feel. Without her…who knows if any of us would be here right now at all?” With that, Abendsen laid down, folding his hands on his chest and staring at the ceiling. “Goodnight, John! Sweet dreams! _‘[N]ever at quiet! What are you? But/this place is too cold for hell. I'll devil-porter/it no further._ ’”

John was too disturbed to respond. He pounded on the door rather more loudly than was strictly necessary. As the door slammed behind him, the sound of Abendsen’s song echoed down the corridor, biting at his heels:

> _“’Ever drifting down the stream —_
> 
> _Lingering in the golden gleam —_
> 
> _Life, what is it but a dream?’”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys...
> 
> I love Stephen Root. I loved him in News Radio as Jimmy James. When I first saw him pop up as The Man in the High Castle, I died laughing thinking how much Jimmy James would have loved to be at the center of everything in such a world. Stephen Root did such a great job as Abendsen, and I loved every scene he was in. I hope I've done him justice here. :) 
> 
> And in case you've never seen News Radio, you are missing something! (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YhrnMbhMgmw)
> 
> In other notes...
> 
> In S4 there is a conversation between John and Abendsen where they talk about Quantum Mechanics and what Enstein called, "Spooky action at a distance." This dovetails into what is known as Quantum Entanglement. Einstein explained it by saying that its like having two sides to the same coin split in half--on one side is heads, and so the other side is naturally tails, even if its light years away. This is what Abendsen is referring to when he tells John that he and Victoria are "entangled", and where the title of the chapter comes from.
> 
> Abendsen quotes many different works here in the course of his conversation with John, including: Shakespeare's Macbeth, Henry V and Hamlet; as well as the movie, Casablanca, and finishes by singing a poem called "A Boat Beneath a Sky," by Lewis Carroll. In his opening and closing quoted lines, Abendsen quotes The Porter from Macbeth. The Porter is a simple character, and yet he is the comic relief in the play. Though Abendsen's appearance here is not funny, I still felt he would look upon his situation with irony and humor enough to begin and end his appearance this way. :)
> 
> As always, your comments are loved and appreciated if you care to leave them!


	5. The Stuff of Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is morning. John Smith has had a most interesting dream, and comes to a conclusion about Victoria. The two of them independently prepare for their next meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Who ARE You?”  
> This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Alice replied, rather shyly,  
> “I--I hardly know, sir, just at present-- at least I know who I WAS when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.”  
> ― Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

**Chapter 5—The Stuff of Dreams**

_The morning was cool, but with a heaviness in the air that bespoke of rain, as was typical in the Springtime of the year. He coughed, shrugged farther into his cloak as if to escape the damp. How he hated the onset of his years! The relentless march of time, and the havoc it had wreaked upon his frame. When he had been a younger man, the damp never concerned him. Now, it settled into his bones, took up residence in his lungs, drew him to his fireside, made him feel his own age. He would not have stirred from his own hearth, except for one, very powerful inducement._

_“It is a beautiful morning, is it not, Lord M?” His Inducement smiled up at him, and he felt all his complaints fade in the brightness of her eyes._

_“It is, Ma’am,” he answered truthfully. “A very beautiful morning.”_

_A coyness appeared in her eyes as she laughed. She knew him well. Knew his statement did not apply to the day at hand._

_“I have something to show you today. Something Dash and I have discovered. Shall we race?”_

_“As it pleases you, Ma’am.”_

_The brightness in her eyes captivated him, as she urged her mount into a gallop. He set off in pursuit, his complaints forgotten, his dark, blood red bay stallion catching her dapple gray mare and easily drawing level with it as the music of her laughter floated back to him, then he was pulling ahead as she cried out in protest._

_“It would appear, Ma’am, that I have won this round,” he said as they dismounted in a copse of trees and hobbled their horses._

_“So it would seem,” she said brightly. “How very vexing.”_

_“Indeed it must be,” he said easily. “For I believe it is the first time it has ever happened. Where are we going?”_

_“This way,” she said, leading him on, deeper into the trees._

_He followed her petite form. She was wearing her blue riding habit today. It was one of his favorites, for it called attention to the deep blue of her eyes. He himself had chosen blue, as it happened. And once again they rode out together on their morning ride, looking for all the world as if their matching attire had been planned, and not merely a happy accident. He secretly enjoyed it when their choices aligned so, despite the gossip it generated. For it indicated a meeting of the minds, a serendipity that came to two people who were so in tune with one another that it necessarily spilled over even unto the mundane choices of their lives._

_“Here!” she said in hushed tones as she pointed in triumph to the towering treetops high above, and the dark birds that swirled and circled there.  
_

_“Oh!” he said in pleasure. “Well spotted indeed, Ma’am!”_

_“It is a parliament of rooks, is it not?” She said, face alight in pleasure as the creatures in question whirled over their heads and called out to one another, settling on the branches of the tall trees. “We thought of you instantly, Dash and I. I was sure I could remember the place, and I did, for we have found it! Is it not a happy surprise?”_

_“It is indeed, Ma’am,” he said, his voice husky, his heart thick with emotion as he looked at her shining face. “Please convey my hearty thanks to Dash.”_

_“I shall,” she said brightly. “Shall we pause here, maybe take some refreshment?”_

_He cast a look around himself. They were quite secluded here. Gazing back in the direction of the palace he could see no sign of the edifice. And they had ridden out quite alone._

_“I do not see why not, Ma’am,” he said, glancing at his pocket-watch. “It is early yet. I do not have to be back at the House until after luncheon, so I am entirely at your disposal.”_

_“Good, for I have brought us something,” she said, still fizzing with girlish excitement._

_“Have you indeed?” He huffed a laugh as she pulled her prize from her saddlebags. “Whatever will Penge say to find himself short a bottle of such fine brandy, Ma’am?”_

_“It is of no consequence,” she said dismissively. “I am afraid I did not procure any glasses. Shall we be like gypsies, Lord M, and share the bottle back and forth between us?”_

_His smile deepened. “If the thought does not offend you, Ma’am, I am not opposed to it.”_

_“Good.” She said, fishing some more and drawing out two further bundles. “I am afraid we shall have to make do on the grass, for I could not fit a blanket.”_

_“Nevermind, Ma’am,” he said, removing his cloak and laying it down for her to sit upon. The morning clawed at him with cold new fingers, but he didn’t mind. The sight of her seated on the inside of his cloak warmed him no end. He perched near her as she revealed her other treasures. A chunk of crusty bread, a wedge of cheese, and a bundle of apples, four of which she set aside for the horses, and the remaining two they divided between them. “You have provided us nearly with luncheon, Ma’am.”_

_“I felt such an auspicious find deserved celebration.”_

_“It did indeed,” he said, having successfully opened the bottle of brandy. He passed it to her, watched her wrap her perfect lips around its opening as she tossed back a mouthful. He swallowed hard against the highly inappropriate thoughts that sprang to his mind, but watched her nonetheless pull back from the bottle and smile at him, handing it to him. He raised it to his lips instantly, deliberately not wiping the end, still holding her eyes as he drank._

_They shared the rest of the banquet between them, chatting amiably over the tearing of bread, the breaking off of chunks of cheese, and the bites of apple. Melbourne found himself quite leaning into her as they did so, and was surprised to realize after awhile there was scarcely any distance between them at all. And then he found himself breaking off a chunk of cheese, and raising it to her beautiful mouth quite without thinking, instead of to his own. By the time he came to himself, it was too late. Mesmerized, he watched as her lips opened against the cheese, and she took it daintily from his fingers, thinking nothing of his impropriety whatsoever.  
_

_She giggled as she ate, and then favored him with a chunk of bread, fed to himself from her pretty fingers in the same vein._

_It turned out to be a very happy accident, indeed. They fed each other the whole of the rest of it, even held the bottle for the other as they drank._

_Perhaps his judgement had lapsed due to his consumption of brandy, or perhaps it was nothing more than the sheer loveliness of his companion. But whatever the cause of his momentary insanity, on the next-to-last morsel of apple, he could not help himself wrapping his lips around her fingers, taking them into his mouth along with the fruit and sucking it from their grasp, giving the same treatment to her fingers until not a drop of juice remained on them, before finally releasing them from his lips._

_She gasped, her blue eyes widening, then closing as her own lips parted on a sigh.  
_

_He held the last bite of apple up to her lips then, and she gave his fingers the same treatment. He moaned aloud to feel her lips wrap around them, caress them and hold them, soft and wet in the suckling warmth of her beautiful mouth.  
_

_They sat gazing at each other. Not moving. Not speaking. The air charged as with lightening. He held his breath against the storm. It was highly improper. Highly impertinent. He had forgot himself. Lost himself in the pleasure of the moment, in the sensual contemplation of a woman he could not hope to aspire to. A woman so far out of his reach that it was impossible to conceive of the distance.  
_

_A thousand apologizes formed on his lips. He uttered none. The look on her face told him plainly that she did not wish an apology at all. So he gave in to temptation entirely, leaning in closer, touching his lips to hers and kissing her beneath the circling rooks._

_She moaned beneath his touch, against his mouth in what he was instantly aware was her first ever kiss. She tried to kiss him back, her efforts both hungry and clumsy, charming him to the core. He reached out and touched her face, smoothed the loosened strands of her hair back gently, stroking the softness of her cheek, teaching her how to relax into his kiss, until at last she sighed, and did as he bade her, and he deepened the kiss. They kissed and kissed each other, slowly, languidly. Exploring. Sharing. Loving each other as they may, drinking deeply of what little they could give each other. Of what would have to last them a lifetime..._

...Smith woke with a start. Shook himself and looked around. He was in his living room, where he’d fallen asleep in his chair, the file that Metzger had compiled about Lord Melbourne still in his lap, his empty glass and brandy decanter on a nearby end table, next to a pile of cigarette stubs in the ashtray. He was still in his uniform from the night before.

He ran a hand through his hair and stared out the window as dawn began to paint the city in soft pastel hues. He had hoped last night’s madness would abate with the morning. That his interview with Abendsen would seem farcical in the cool, calm rational light of day. But thoughts of Lord Melbourne and his relationship with Victoria apparently were still weighing on his mind—enough even to invade his dreams. 

Or was this more than a random dream?

Last night, he’d had the damnedest experiences when standing in Abendsen’s cell. One moment, he was talking to his nemesis, the next he was…somewhere else. There were rooks in the waking dream he’d had too. Although that was a different occasion…

He shook his head. Ran a hand down his face. Rubbed at it vigorously, as if he could clear all this nonsense away. Perhaps there was a much simpler explanation. Perhaps he was just cracking up. He huffed a laugh at the thought. What a relief that would be, to ‘only’ be losing his mind! What a sane, rational, completely normal thing to do under the circumstances.

Maybe it had more to do with Helen than it did with Victoria. Maybe her leaving him had in some way led him to having these wild fantasies about being Lord Melbourne to in some way justify his attraction to another woman.

 _Helen_.

Despite her treachery and desertion, he still felt a prick at his conscience. He'd never held such thoughts—or dreams—about any woman other than his wife since the day they had met. But ever since Victoria had appeared in his life yesterday, he had not been able to stop thinking about her. No--there were no two ways about it, he might as well admit it to himself, at least. He wanted her. What he felt—what he wanted with her—it was visceral. Primal. Something so…instinctive…as to be almost primitive. It welled up from deep inside of him, took him completely unaware. It wasn’t just because she was a pretty face. There was something else about her that drew him, like the proverbial moth to the flame.

But it was more than lust, this feeling she raised in him. It was deeper than that. It was, for lack of a better way to explain it, closer to love, though he did not believe in love at first sight. It felt more like he had known her, somewhere, long ago. Loved her and lost her. And now, she was reappearing in his life again, stirring up long buried feelings that he didn’t know he still had…

Except that he knew they had never met before.

It didn't make any sense! None of it did. Not even to himself.

Ever since she had appeared in his life yesterday, it was as if he was stricken suddenly with a strange double vision. As if he was both himself, and more than himself. And she was a stranger, but not a stranger. He was in love with Helen still. And yet, he was in love with Victoria, and somehow always had been, though they had never met. It was as if his feelings for her were older, tempered, weathered feelings. Perhaps in some ways, they were even stronger because of that. 

But how was that possible?

 _Had_ they met before? Had he been Lord Melbourne, in a past life? Or was he only himself? Was he somehow both? How could he have feelings for a woman he'd never set eyes on before yesterday? Or was it just...lust combined with loneliness and a desperate attempt to justify it to himself as something nobler?

He steepled his fingers, and covered his face. Just thinking about it all made his head hurt. He simply could not go on like this. If he did and wasn't already, he'd be mad as a march hare. 

John banished the line of thought with the discipline born of long practice, and focused his attention on more practical matters. 

He needed several things, all at once.

Coffee. A shower and a shave. A change of clothes. Breakfast.

And then--Victoria.

Yes, it was a need. He would at least be honest about that fact. He needed to see her. Hungered to see her. Hungered for far more. And his eagerness precipitated haste for the other items on his list. The sooner he was showered and dressed, the sooner he could be about his business with her.

But his dream was not to be so lightly set aside. And with thoughts of Victoria, it all came back to him again.

He set the open file on the nearby end table and rose stiffly from his chair. He crossed to stand by the window, one arm propped over his head, allowing himself the indulgence of reliving his dream as he gazed out across the city to Nazi Headquarters in the distance. It had been one of the most vivid dreams of his recent memory, and by far one of the most pleasant. He closed his eyes and remembered from the dream the soft eagerness of her lips, her body pressing against his…her sigh into him....

Abendsen had been right about one thing for certain--Victoria had rattled him. There were no two ways about it. 

He wasn’t there long before he heard the elevator chime behind him, heralding Brigit’s arrival.

“Oh! Reichsmarschall!” She said, stopping short to see him, her eyes taking in his disheveled appearance, and the evidence of his restless night scattered across the vicinity of his chair.

“Good morning, Brigit,” he said with a sigh. “I’m afraid I was working late last night and fell asleep on the job.”

She nodded. “I can see that, Sir. Shall I get your breakfast started?”

“Coffee only, thanks. I’ll be leaving early this morning.”

“Is everything alright Sir?”

“Yes. Everything is fine.” He turned from the window resolutely and headed straight into his room, closing the door behind him.

* * *

Victoria started as she awoke, sending her lap full of papers flying. Still in a stupor, she dutifully gathered them up and stacked them neatly on the bedside table.

She was still here.

Still in this dreadful place. She rubbed her eyes. Morning was peeking through the curtains in her room. No time to go back to sleep. Her escort would be here for her soon.

She stumbled into the water closet. Used the toilet. The paper too, which was most soft. And when she pulled the handle it made such a loud noise she started, and put a hand to her heart. Still, it was most ingenious. Most hygienic. She wished to have one installed in her chambers at the palace when she returned. She brushed her teeth as well, using the toothbrush as it was showed to her yesterday and the accompanying toothpaste. The brush was soft and lovely, and the toothpaste tasted most pleasantly of mint and was not as gritty or as bitter as the tooth cleaning dentifrice she was accustomed to.

But when she stepped into the shower, Victoria thought she might never go home again.

She sighed aloud as the warm water streamed down her body like her own private rainstorm. The heat relaxed her, and the soap for her hair and body was pleasant as well. She stood in the shower until the water turned cool. When she stepped out again, she felt like a new woman. And she hadn’t had to bare herself before servants, either. Yes, there was certainly something to be said for living in the future.

She dressed herself as well in her future clothes from yesterday. At least, she reflected, future clothes were less complicated. One didn’t need an army of dressers for a start. Most notably was the lack of corset. Victoria couldn’t decide if that was a benefit or a drawback. On the one hand, she hated her corsets. But on the other hand, they did show her figure to its best advantage. Now she hardly knew what to do with herself. She felt positively huge, and her body disconcertingly free beneath its clothing. There was, however, a shorter affair that was worn over the breasts as a means of support. She wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about this contraption, either. However it was far better than going without anything, so she slipped it on again with a sigh. It did nothing for her waist, but at least she wasn’t entirely too free beneath her garments as to feel completely indecent. She put the rest of it all back on as well, feeling positively rumpled. She simply must find some more clothes if she was going to be here for any length of time.

She frowned at her reflection. Had she changed overmuch, since Lord M had passed? Her figure was more rounded, she thought with a sigh, wishing, oddly, for her hated corset to help draw in her waist. And perhaps she looked more careworn. There were hints of silver in her dark hair that she fretted over, and for reasons she could not exactly pinpoint, she felt she just looked—older. Where was the girl she had been, the girl who had so entranced him? What would he think of her now? Would she still be beautiful to him?

Oh she knew he’d said so, well after her marriage. But perhaps he had just been kind to her.

She stopped suddenly, and took herself firmly in hand.

It wasn’t Lord Melbourne who she would be seeing today, she reminded herself, but John Smith. John Smith, who had already seen her yesterday. And whom did not care for her in the slightest. In fact, he regarded her with a cold, detached suspicion, and almost a palpating hostility.

Even though he was not Lord M, and she knew very well that he was not, to see such looks upon his face as he had given her yesterday was enough to break her heart again, ten times over. To be so like…and so unlike at the same time. How was she to bear it? And yet, how was she to bear being stranded here in the future, if not for him?

She turned away, battling her tears. She went to the bedside table, took up his pocket-watch. Cradled it in her hand, touched it to her lips. Then she found her stack of papers and carried them to the sitting room. She looked at the kitchen but sighed. She still did not feel like eating, even if she’d had the slightest idea of what to do to make herself breakfast. Instead she poured herself some more cold water and settled down to wait.

* * *

John stood in the shower and let the hot water pummel his back, running down his body in rivulets. If only hot water could do for his tortured thoughts what it did for his tired muscles, he might be in business. But as shampoo and conditioner and a good lather of soap worked on his hair and skin, his mind too felt a little refreshed.

If he was Melbourne, it explained a hell of a lot, while also bringing up other questions. Whereas if he was not Melbourne, he had nothing but questions with no explanations. He turned it over and over again in his mind, getting exactly nowhere in the process. No matter who he was though, one thing was clear. 

_Victoria._

He simply had no other explanation for her appearing in his office other than the fact she had Traveled between worlds. And for whatever reason--much of which he was not yet prepared to entirely accept--her being here had something to do with himself. 

Leaving the matter of his own identity in abeyance, by the time his shower was concluded he’d made up his mind about at least one thing. Until she proved otherwise, he was prepared to believe her story. If she turned out to be lying, he’d find out soon enough, and at that point she’d be dealt with accordingly.

He dressed in a fresh uniform, and was about to slip into his jacket when he heard the elevator chime, and Brigit answer. He opened his bedroom door to see the lieutenant in charge of surveillance at Victoria’s dormitory, standing there with a case.

“Reichsmarschall! Heil Himmler!”

“At ease, Lieutenant,” John said with a smile. “I see you have something for me?”

“Yes Reichsmarschall! As requested.”

John took the briefcase from the eager young lieutenant with its cargo of films and audio recordings, and sent him on his way. He was eager to see Victoria again, but before he met with her today he wanted to know all of her movements. Anything from the last twelve hours that would give him either confirmation of her identity, or proof she was lying.

He grabbed his jacket from his room and slipped it on before taking the case to his home office. After Brigit had delivered his coffee, he set up the first film in his player and sat down to study it with the blinds drawn.

Reel by reel, he examined every aspect of Victoria’s movements through the last several hours. She had conducted a thorough investigation of her apartment, testing all modern conveniences. John considered himself a good judge of character. He was highly trained and naturally astute when it came to reading people. Had Victoria been putting on an act for him, to convince him she was a time traveler, he would have spotted as much. But to his absolute shock he found her reactions to be completely genuine. If he had plucked a person from Victorian England up and out of their environment and dropped them into his own, he would have imagined that person would have interacted with everything the same way. There were no slip ups. No modern convenience she didn’t examine, or seemed to instinctively interact with. Liars always gave themselves away. Especially in the smaller details. Not even once did her eyes flick up towards the cameras. Not even once did she seem to pose, or in anyway tip him off that she knew he was watching. She behaved as though she thought herself completely alone. And that was a strong a proof as any that she was very much a fish out of her own waters. Out of her depth here in the Reich.

When she began to draw, he took notice. But the angle of the surveillance camera did not give him any viewpoint on what she was working on. He knew only that she sat up in bed for many hours, drawing furiously and with great absorption until she finally fell asleep.

He needed to know what was on those papers. And that was not a chore he would trust to his aide-de-camp. Not that he was about to let Metzger pick her up today, anyway. He'd already decided that much, long before the footage. He reached for the phone.

“Change of plan, Major,” he said. “I will go and pick up Miss Buckingham this morning personally….No, you just go on to the office, as usual. I will see you there.” He disconnected the call, and turned off the reel, went to raise the blinds, then settled down to drink the rest of his coffee thoughtfully, his mind now made up entirely, at least on one point.

Against all odds, and by a power he did not even begin to understand, here was Victoria, Queen of England, a Traveler through time as well as space who had landed squarely on his doorstep. 

Of the matter of his own personal identity crisis, he resolutely pushed all of that aside. He had grappled with that enough for one morning, and was no further to solving anything. Therefore he would take a more pragmatic approach. Suffice to say, he had a connection to her that he could not explain, for whatever reason. But that really didn't matter so much. What was far more important was that Victoria needed his help if she was going to survive her time in the Reich until he could find a way to send her back home again. And he intended to give it to her.


	6. A New Understanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Smith's decisions about Victoria bring the two of them to a truce--and then some, as the mysterious bond between them draws them inexorably closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Well, now that we have seen each other," said the unicorn, "if you'll believe in me, I'll believe in you.”  
> ― Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There

**Chapter 6—A New Understanding**

The knock on her door startled her. Victoria stood, smoothed her clothing down by habit and patted at her hair. Once dry, she had swept it up and pinned it as best she could, with a pendant braid framing each of her ears. It was not a style she had worn for many years, but it made her feel younger to see herself thus. She opened the door herself, and gasped.

Not his assistant. _Him._

“I see you’ve learned to answer your own door,” he said with some amusement. “And you are ready to go. Very good.”

“Good Morning, L—I’m sorry I seem to have forgotten your title.”

“Reichsmarschall,” he said, his eyes fixed on hers. “John Smith.”

“Reichsmarschall,” she echoed, swallowing hard. “Such a German title for an American who does not speak German.”

“I suppose it is,” he said, huffing a laugh. “May I come in?”

“Of course.” She stood aside. It was so undignified, she decided, answering one’s own door. So…demeaning. She closed it firmly behind him, studied him from behind in the light of the morning as it poured through her windows.

She swallowed a painful lump in her throat as she faced him. Though he was still forbidding as a mountain, he had changed somewhat in his demeanor today. It was as if he were attempting to make himself more pleasant. She did not altogether trust this.

“I hope you can forgive Major Metzger,” he said, affecting ease. “He was called away on another assignment this morning.”

“I see.” She said simply.

“I trust you slept well,” he continued.

“Not really,” she said, wrapping her arms around herself as she closed the distance between them a little. “But I suppose that is to be expected.”

“But…you had no…disturbances of any kind?”

“No,” she said, her gaze narrowing. _Where was this going?_

“Good,” he said nodding, turning his attention to her apartment, gazing around himself as if looking for something.

“Could I offer you some…water?” she said. Closing her eyes at how foolish she sounded. “I’m afraid I have not learned how to manage anything else yet.”

“No thank you,” he smiled, then his gaze sharpened. “You haven’t eaten yet?”

“No. I’m not really hungry.”

“Oh now, that will not do. We must feed you,” he gave her a sideways smile so like Lord M that it pained her. “Can’t have you going hungry.” He tilted his head to one side, studying her. “Did you do your own hair this morning?”

“Yes of course. Who else would have?”

He shrugged. “I was only going to say its—quite charming. Looks very much like your coronation portrait.”

“You have seen that?”

“I have.”

“Yes. I suppose if you have been to the palace.”

She took a few hesitant steps towards him and sat back down in her chair. He seated himself opposite her, crossed one leg over the other and hung his hat on his knee.

“I saw it in a book.”

“A book?”

“You are…quite a famous Queen, you know? Queen Victoria…she was formidable. But highly admired far and wide. History speaks very highly of you.”

“Please. I do not wish for you to speak of me in such terms.”

“I only seek to praise you.”

“You seek to mock me, Sir. You do not believe I am who I say I am; it is plain in your voice. You are patronizing me and I do not appreciate it!” She bit her lip and turned away. What was the matter with her? He was being perfectly polite. It was not his fault, after all, that he was not the man she so wanted him to be.

He stood again with a sigh, setting his hat on the table and turning his face out the window. She saw then that he had not passed an easy night either. He ran his hand through his hair in a gesture so familiar it made her breath catch. He looked tired, and his shoulders sagged. She ached to go to him, to take him into her arms and bid him unburden himself to her. At the same time, she ached to push him out her door and demand he never return.

She wrung her hands in her lap instead of either of those things.

“I do believe you,” he said very quietly. “I don’t know how you are here. But I do believe you are who you say you are. Queen Victoria.” He turned to her and let out a ragged breath. “You should not be here,” he whispered. “You should not have come.”

Her eyes flew to his. And there, in the depths of Reichsmarschall John Smith’s green eyes she saw…she saw…

 _Him_.

Her breath left her in a whoosh.

His eyes were misty as he gazed at her. “This place is not safe for you. I…do not know that I can guarantee your safety. You must return home as soon as you can. Return home and forget…him. Go on with your life. With who you are supposed to be.” He finished clearing his throat.

“I did not come willingly. Even knowingly! Therefore how can I return?” She stood, still wringing her hands, seeking the pocket watch. “And even if I do somehow manage to find my way home again, the rest of what you suggest is impossible, do you hear me? _Impossible!_ I shall never forget him! Not ever! You might as well ask me to forget myself!”

She wanted John to be him. Oh, how she wanted her Lord M! Why wasn’t he him? How could he look so much like him and be a different man entirely?

Grief, longing so acute she could scarce draw breath seized her without warning.

It was too much. Too much! To be in the presence of this man. She turned away, bit the back of her hand viciously enough to draw blood, trying to swallow the great, gulping, heaving sobs, but they came from her heart, and she could not stop them. Could not staunch the flow of tears and memories. After so many years of swallowing her pain, of pushing it away, desire and love stronger than the grave…stronger than anything she had ever felt before…took hold of her. Threatened to break her in half.

“He is so deep a part of me…so deep…I can no more forget him than I can cut him from my own heart!” She doubled over.

And then a pair of strong hands landed on her shoulders. Lifted her up. Spun her around.

And she found herself quite embraced.

The gesture undid her, and she lost what was left of her dignity and composure, giving way to her tears.

“Shhhhhh,” he whispered in her ear soothingly. “Shhhhh…I know. I know it hurts. It hurts like hell to lose someone you love. I’m sorry. So sorry for your loss…”

He was warm and solid, and so very strong beneath his uniform. She could feel the power of his frame as she wrapped her arms around him and placed her hands on his back, sobbing into his uniform as he held her close. So close. His body touched hers all the way down and he pulled her closer still, one hand on her neck, the other spread against her back. She held him tightly to herself as she went wholly and thoroughly to pieces in his arms. 

“He was my friend!” she sobbed. “My dearest friend! And I loved him! I LOVED HIM!!” Her body shook with the confession, shook with the pain. “I loved him so very much!”

He pulled her even closer as she began to scream against his shoulder, pound him on the back.

“Oh, God, and he is GONE! Oh, he is dead and GONE and still I love him!!! I feel as if I shall never be whole again! Never be strong again! No one shall ever love me again the way he did!!”

She was aware of his cheek landing against her head, of moisture landing in her hair.

“N-no one has ever has. And now no one ever shall. No one! Not even Albert! He always looks upon me as if I am a troublesome creature and I annoy him. As if I cannot possibly share in or appreciate the greatness of his thoughts. I am an imbecile to him! Only fit for breeding children and being a nursemaid! But I was running my country for years before I married him! I do not need his assistance as much as he presumes and…” she sobbed aloud. “Lord M never treated me that way. Never looked down upon me. It was he that told me I was strong enough, wise enough, good enough to be Queen. When all the others treated me like a child, he alone treated me like a woman! He told me I was strong. That I was brave. When they all laughed at my height, he told me I was every inch a queen! And when the world it seemed was against me, he alone was my champion! And he stood by my side every step of the way. Encouraging me. If not for him I do not know what should have happened to me! He taught me so much no one else ever would. And I adored him! I loved him with all my heart! Oh, I always shall!”

“He was a very good man,” he said softly against her ear.

“He was the very best of men! And now he is gone. And I feel I shall never recover! I shall never be whole again without him!”

“Everyone who grieves someone they loved feels that way,” he was rocking her now, swaying gently side to side soothingly. “But you do. You do go on. And you learn to live without that person. Even though the love you have for them never dies.”

“I cannot bear it! I cannot! I shall die of the pain! I want to die of it. I want to see him again! I…need him so…” she breathed the last words through gritted teeth. “I want sometimes to die just to hasten myself to his side.”

She felt his arms tighten about her, and felt him take a ragged breath.

“Would Lord M like to hear you say that, do you think, hm? Would he want you to die?” His voice was soft in her ear.

“No! Damn him!” She pounded him on the back again. “Ohhh William! Oh my love! How could you leave me like this?”

“I’m sure he had no choice. He could never have left you by choice. You know he did not want to leave you any more than you wanted him to go.” There was utter conviction in his voice. “It would break his heart to hear you talk like this, you know. He would want you to go on. To be happy. To love and be loved. To be his legacy in the world.”

Her body shook with her sobs, her tears soaking through the Reichsmarschall’s smart black coat as he stroked her hair and whispered to her softly, comforting her, until she had cried herself out.

At last the sharpest edge of grief faded away, leaving her spent. They stood some time longer, swaying softly together, not speaking as she rallied her strength again. And Victoria’s thoughts again returned to the man in whose arms she now stood.

Oh, he was so like him! So like him she never wanted him to let go. And his arms felt so good around her. But she knew this moment could not last forever. Better she end it than he. So she took a deep breath, fortifying herself, closing her eyes momentarily, committing the feeling of his strong arms around her to memory, and pushed away. She felt cold and alone as soon as his arms withdrew, making her long to have them back around her again.

“Your coat,” she said, fixing her eyes on the large wet patch. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t worry. It’ll dry.”

She could feel his eyes on her and she met them, reluctantly. He gave her a sad smile, and she found his stern countenance was quite transformed by kindness, making his uncanny resemblance to Lord M so much the stronger.

“You are so very like him,” she whispered. “It is quite disconcerting.”

“If only that were true,” he said ruefully.

“Please accept my apologies for my behavior. I am not normally given to copious weeping and emotional breakdowns, I assure you.”

“No need,” he said, his lips twitching in a smile again. “Think nothing of it. It is very understandable. I suppose all of this must look and feel very strange to you, coming as you do from another time and place. No doubt you are feeling a little disoriented too.”

“Yes. I suppose I am.”

He turned the full force of his green eyes on her, and they were soft now. She found the vice around her heart ease a little. “What do you say we get you freshened up a bit and we get outside and get some fresh air? It’s a beautiful morning. I have a car waiting outside. I thought maybe I could take us to a place we can talk more freely, and feed you some breakfast. Then there’s some…paperwork…that needs to be done if you’re going to stay here. We’ll need to see to that today as well.”

“Alright. If you will wait a moment…”

“Certainly. Oh and…Victoria…”

“Yes?”

“About your hair…”

“Oh good Lord, is it untidy now?” she patted it self-consciously.

“No. It’s charming. It’s just…ladies now aren’t wearing their hair like that so much anymore. You might just…either pull it all up in a twist of some kind or let it fall naturally around your shoulders. Just till you see some of the other ladies and decide how you’d like to wear it, you know.” He shrugged. “I don’t think too much of these things but, I know you ladies do.”

She sighed. “I suppose I am a few hundred years out of fashion by now.”

“Well. Only one.” He gave her a sideways smile that both warmed her heart and twisted it.

She smiled at him through the pain. “Very well. I won’t keep you waiting long.”

* * *

John heaved a deep breath as she left. His shoulder was soaked through to the skin with her tears, and cold now that she was gone. In fact he had shocked himself by his response to her weeping. But it had been instinctive. A compulsion he could not ignore, for more reasons than he could put into words.

Taking her into his arms had had a powerful effect on him as well. That strange sense of double vision had intensified. And holding her had felt..had felt like he had waited a lifetime to wrap his arms around her that way.

He ran a hand down his face. Shook his head and tried to clear it. Sat down at her small table to wait and try to regain his composure. He folded his hands in his lap and studied them.

He’d wanted to go on holding her, could have happily stood here all day long comforting her. It was getting harder and harder to ignore the pull he felt toward her. Just coming here this morning—he could not wait to get here. And when she opened the door his heart had taken flight.

And then…something about her mourning Lord Melbourne had felt very personal. As if he were comforting her from mourning his own death. It had left him profoundly shaken, confused, and moved beyond words.

The papers on her table caught his eye. Her drawings. He sucked in a deep breath. In all that had just happened, he’d almost forgotten!

He lifted the first with a shaking hand. It was a portrait of himself. At least, half of it was. It was a fully forward perspective. But one side of his body was in a rough approximation of his uniform, including his armband. The other side…his hair was longer, his dark curls brushed forward to frame his face. He had a sideburn, but was otherwise clean-shaven. His face was framed with a wing-collar. His tie, a cravat. The cut of a frock coat and waistcoat visible in the lines. It was an extraordinary picture. And one that shook him down to the core.

The next several drawings were a mixture. Himself in his office, looking stern and forbidding. Lord M holding a small spaniel in his lap. Lord M on the back of a dark horse like the one in his dream, his head crowned in a top hat. Lord Melbourne standing at her desk with a box of papers. Holding her in a waltz. Standing on the sideline of what appeared to be a social gathering, looking elegant, drinking champagne, his eyes on her from across the room.

Page after page, he saw visions of her life with the other man he was not. Intimate drawings that told of a deep friendship. One standing on the porch of a great house near a carriage. Another in what looked like a library, in a state of semi-undress—John’s eyebrows went up at that, and at the attention to detail she had given to his anatomy, and to the way his shirt fell open at the chest. He chuckled. It was very clear that Victoria did love Melbourne. Clear she lusted after him as well.

The last sketch was a portrait. Melbourne’s face only, shaded to reveal his bone structure. His eyebrows. The swirls of his curly hair. Most prominent about the sketch was the detail around his eyes and mouth. His eyes seemed to glow, to leap from the page with a soft, almost seductive expression. The love and desire in them was plain.

So this was the way she remembered him, was it? This was the way he had looked at her? There could be no question, then, that their feelings were entirely mutual. But then, even though he’d known her only a short while, he did not find that hard to believe at all.

He returned the papers to their table, carefully laying them back in the same order. Then he returned his attention to the one on the top. Half himself, half Melbourne. He frowned at it thoughtfully.

“How’s this?”

He looked up to see her. She had her hair swept all the way up in dignified chignon.

“Very nice,” he said truthfully. “You look like a sophisticated woman of the Reich now.”

“Do I indeed?”

“Very much so.”

Her eyes darted to the papers next to him on the table, and a blush rose in her cheeks.

“I see you have found my drawings.”

He sighed, seeing no point in denying it.

“They are very good.”

“I could not sleep.”

“Did you often draw him? When he was alive?”

“As often as I could get him to sit still for me,” she said ruefully. “Which was not as often as I should have liked.”

“I’m sure he would have happily sat for you all day if he could have.”

“He said as much,” she said with a small smile. “But I doubt he meant it. I thought he was secretly quite glad to get away from me most of the time. I must have vexed him so.”

“I seriously doubt that.” He said with sincerity.

“I was such a child,” she said with a heavy sigh. “I knew nothing about the world. About men. But oh, how I wanted him to teach me.”

“He would have loved nothing better.” He said it instantly, and with surprising authority, and a husky quality to his voice that was unintentional. He cleared his throat at the look she flashed him. “That is--I’m sure he would have.”

She shook her head. “I thought so sometimes. But at other times, I was sure it was only my wishful thinking.”

“No. You did not mistake it. He felt the same way about you that you did about him. There’s no question in my mind.”

“You are kind to say so.”

“I am sure I am right.”

“It was ever so long ago now.” She wrung her hands. “I am…not that same young woman anymore. Perhaps it is good that he is not here to see me now. He would not find me so winsome, I think, as he once did.”

“He would find you even more enchanting than he remembered.”

Again she turned and looked at him sharply.

“You say that just to assuage my feelings.”

“No. I don’t. He did not love your youth, Victoria. He loved you. There’s a great difference. And when a man loves a woman so deeply, years don’t matter.” He spoke from the heart. To her. To Helen as well. God, what was happening to him?

“No. I suppose they do not.” She smiled at him gratefully.

He cleared his throat and stood. “Well then. Shall we go? We have a busy day ahead of us today.”

"Yes," she said, still smiling, "I suppose we shall."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I love and welcome your comments!


	7. Welcome to the Reich

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in his office, John briefs Victoria on some basics about life in the GNR and helps to prepare her for immigration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “'What a strange world we live in'...said Alice to the Queen of Hearts.”  
> ― Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

**Chapter 7—Welcome to the Reich**

Exiting her little apartment, they came to a black horseless carriage, which John had called a ‘car’, also surrounded by soldiers sporting firearms. Everyone of them snapped to salute. John returned it.

“Do all people salute you so, every time you appear?”

“Sometimes,” he said, opening the door for her and ushering her in the back before climbing in himself.

“There seem to be quite a lot of soldiers around.”

“There are. Its a matter of security.” The door outside was closed by one of the soldiers, who came round the front and got in behind a large round wheel, which Victoria had observed seemed to control the carriage.

She started when the great engine roared to life, moving instinctively closer to John.

“Don’t worry,” Smith said to her with a little smile, “You’ll get used to it.”

Smith gave the driver an address, and then leaned back into the dark leather seat, where he pressed a button, and a slim panel of glass rose slowly from the back of the driver’s seat, stopping only when it hit the roof of the carriage.

“There. Now we have some added privacy.” He said.

“Do you mean, he cannot hear us now?”

“Go ahead. Ask him.”

Victoria tried to speak to the driver, who gave no indication he could hear her whatsoever until she tapped on the glass.

John hit another button on his armrest. “Merely a demonstration, Lieutenant. Carry on.” He gave her a brief smile before turning to watch out of his window.

It was far more comfortable than her own carriage, she had to admit. The ride was so much smoother, and so much faster! And how was it accomplished without the use of horses or tracks to keep it going in a straight line? She did not know how the drivers kept from crashing into each other, as well as other things going at such a breakneck speed. But John watched the world go by out of his window as if the speed were nothing. So she tried to follow his example.

Again she was whisked out into the bustling city of New York, positively swarming with people and horseless carriages. There was, in fact, not one horse to be seen anywhere. Most remarkable, and quite sad as well. Whatever did people take for exercise?

The buildings were impossibly high and dense, making Victoria feel as if she were in a forest made entirely of gray stone and glass. But the people walking along the streets were what caught her eye the most.

The fashions were not so different in this time for men. Many of them were similarly dressed to the men of her time. Her companion however, stood out among the crowd in his dark uniform, and here and there other soldiers in black and fawn could be seen along the streets. Some men were more casually dressed in shirt and breeches only. Some of their shirts had shortened sleeves and appeared to be a very fine knit ware, though she could not tell at a distance. Some wore hats, many of which were unusually styled to her way of thinking, but not unattractive. Others went about bare-headed. Nearly all men wore their hair close cropped, as did John. And there was a distinct lack of facial hair and whiskers among the male population, which she decided was a definite improvement upon her own time.

Ladies fashions, on the other hand, had changed dramatically from her own day. Absolutely everyone wore short skirts. Some were slim fitted, molded to the lines of the body without a single flounce or ruffle, while others had a cinched in waist and a fuller skirt that was almost a nod to her own day, except it too, was above the knee. Nearly all the women that she saw wore heeled slippers and carried reticules made of leather in varying sizes, shapes and colors. Absolutely no one wore their skirts long and full as she was accustomed to. All of them, every last one, with bared legs to the knee. Simply shocking.

Hairstyles too had changed very dramatically, and she was glad she had taken John’s advice about her own. Most ladies wore sleek styles that were upswept, like her own, or had their hair cropped frightfully short and fluffed around their faces and the crowns of their heads, until their hair was as large as a helmet. Some styles framed the face with curls, and some brushed the shoulders in a sleek fashion that flipped up at the end in a dramatic sweep. And absolutely every one of them had painted their faces so strongly that even the French court of her time would have been wholly and thoroughly scandalized.

Victoria at once was very glad of several things. One, that Albert was not here to utter his constant disapproval in her ear, and insist that she wear only styles from home. Two, that she had taken John’s suggestion about restyling her hair and three, that she was concealed from the eyes of nearly all inside this large black carriage, where her own mostly plain, unadorned features could be hidden.

“You must think me very old-fashioned,” she heard herself say.

“Well…a certain amount of that is to be expected, I should think, under the circumstances.” He turned to look at her. “This must all look very strange to you.”

“It does. Albert would not approve.”

“Well,” he said with a lift of his brows, “Then I suppose it’s a good thing he’s not here.”

She looked at him then, and sputtered with mirth. He returned her smile and then they both turned in unison to their different windows again.

The journey was not a long one, and soon they had pulled up outside the same impossibly tall building she had come to understand was Nazi Headquarters—where she had appeared yesterday.

“Victoria,” he said as they began to slow in preparation to park, “There’s something very important I need you to do.”

His voice had taken on a serious tone.

“Of course.”

“When this door opens, and we step out of the car, I need you to be absolutely silent, until we reach my office. Follow my lead. Do not deviate. Let me do all the talking. Can you do that?”

“Yes, I suppose so.” What an unusual request! But he must have a reason, she thought.

“Good,” he said with a reassuring smile. “I promise I’ll explain later.”

John helped her to alight, and as they approached the main door, held it open for her.

Everyone they met saluted. She merely paused, watching this curious little Germanic ritual, saying nothing. They passed through a large foyer full of soldiers, wearing guns and very serious expressions indeed. It all seemed rather ominous.

She wanted to ask if they were at war, but she had promised John silence. So she bit back on her questions, saving them for later.

They went through a checkpoint of sorts, at which John explained that Victoria was here with him. The soldiers parted like the Red Sea before him, with a chorus of salutes which John returned in a very serious manner. Gone was his easy demeanor from the car. Here again was the John Smith she’d met yesterday. His gaze sharp and wary, with no trace of humor or ease of manner, he strode through the corridors, forbidding, stern, and cold as ice.

He lead her into a small box of a room that she had learned yesterday was called an elevator, that propelled them to the top of the building without climbing stairs. Though they were quite alone in this device, his manner did not once soften, so she waited, again biting back the questions that flew to her mind. Occasionally the doors would open and admit others into their little flying box. Whenever they did, there was an instant reaction to John Smith. A nervous intake of breath, a stiffening of the spine, a fumbled greeting which sometimes consisted of an abbreviated salute, a sense that breath was being held until finally the unhappy occupant alighted from the "elevator" onto their specified floor. Whatever a Reichsmarschall was, Victoria mused, he must have been of very high rank indeed. But what troubled her most was their sense of fear. Why should they fear him?

And moreover, why did he wish them to? Because it was very clear to her that he did.

Finally, they alighted and there was the dark-haired Major from the day before as he also snapped to salute John, and John returned the salute. They entered his office, closing the door behind them. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, he held up a hand to silence her. He crossed to his desk and opened a drawer. She followed him to see a panel of odd looking controls and dials. He turned some of these and the box went still.

“Now,” he said taking a deep breath. “We can talk.”

“What is that?” She pointed at the box.

“Most buildings in the GNR are under twenty-four hour surveillance. Even my office. The only difference is, I have the authority to turn it off.”

“Do you mean…that thing is listening to what we say?”

“Listening…and recording.”

“For what purpose?”

He sighed. “Well, ideally to monitor the citizens and even officials for…loyalty. For security.”

“Loyalty to whom? A king?”

“The Führer,” he said, indicating a large photograph over his desk of a stout, stumpy looking grey-faced man who looked as though he had a bad case of indigestion. “Heinrich Himmler.”

“Führer,” she said, swallowing. The word for some reason left a bad taste in her mouth. “Leader.”

“Loosely translated, yes,” he said, with a hand on the back of his head. “But it is a bit…more encompassing…than that.”

“He is a king, is he not?”

“More like…an emperor.”

“So everything you do and say is monitored.”

“Yes.”

“What happens if he detects disloyalty?”

“You are executed. Along with your family and anyone else you may have touched along the way.”

“He sounds like a tyrant.”

“Victoria, listen to me. And listen very, very carefully. The very first thing you must know about the GNR is this—you must never— _never_ —voice that sentiment again. Not to me. Not to anyone. Men have been tortured and killed for far less. In this place, the Führer is a god. He demands loyalty like a god. He will destroy you utterly if you do not bend your knee to him and submit. If you say anything like that again, and he comes to know of it, there will be nothing— _nothing_ —I can do to protect you from his wrath. Do you understand me?”

“I do,” she said, somewhat breathlessly, alarmed and somewhat touched by the intensity of his speech. She looked him over again, taking in his uniform. “And you are his…?”

“I am the leader of the American Reich. I guess a kind of...Prime Minister. But without a Parliament.”

“I see." The irony was not lost on her, but she forbore to point it out. "For the entire of America?”

“Yes. I am answerable only to Himmler. My authority is second only to him.”

She sat somewhat nervously, wringing her hands. “I am not accustomed to such limitations as these.”

“I realize that. That’s why I brought you here first. And that’s why I asked you to be entirely silent on the way up here. You did that very well, I might add.” He gave her a half smile. “So. Now we are here, we can talk freely for a moment and I can explain some things to you that you need to know to stay safe here.” He sighed. “But before we get into all of that, you must be starving. I’m starving. What would you say if I ordered us a breakfast and had it delivered here? It’s not a nice, cozy little restaurant, but my office is one of only a very few places in the Reich I am allowed to switch off the surveillance. We could continue to talk for a little while before I had to turn it back on. When we leave here we will be monitored, as well as observed.”

“I see. Yes, that sounds agreeable.”

He went to the device on his desk with a handle, lifted it and spoke into it. “Major, have you had breakfast yet?”

“No, Sir.”

“Order us up three breakfasts then, from the cafeteria downstairs. Add in a sweet roll or two. And make us a pot of hot tea, as well as coffee.”

“Will do Sir.”

He put the handle down.

“What is that thing?”

“This?” His green eyes met hers with amusement. “It’s called a telephone. A phone for short. It allows me to talk to someone who is not in the same room with me. Or even over long distances. Every phone has a number assigned to it. And in order to call a specific person, you dial their number here.”

“I see.”

“But phone lines are monitored too. Anytime you pick one up and make a call, the Reich will be listening.”

“I see. Thank you for the warning. But I doubt I shall ever have cause to use one of those things.”

“You may at some point in future.” He reached into his desk and pulled out a card. He handed it to her. “In fact, here. Keep this. If ever you are in any trouble, or need me for any reason, call me. My number is there.” He pointed to a series of numbers on the card.

“So…I would pick up this thing, and…”

He showed her how to work the wheel of numbers, which he called a rotary. The sequence must be observed, he told her. But this way, he was never any farther than a phone call away.

“And here,” he said, taking out his wallet and handing her some green bills.

“What is this for?”

“Pocket money. For whatever you need. Public phones need money to work. They take coins, not bills though, so you’d have to buy something first and use the change to call me. Keep it. In case of emergencies.”

“Thank you,” she said, folding the money and card into the pocket of her skirt.

“Victoria, there are several things that need to happen today,” he said, drawing her to the leather sitting area and seating her comfortably on the sofa while he sank into the chair. “First, we need to have a little…debriefing, where I explain a little of what you need to know to survive here for the time being, for as long as you stay. And then I’m going to take you to immigration, where you will be officially made a citizen of the Reich. Ordinarily, we wouldn't have to take that drastic of a step because you'd have papers from your own country to identify you as you visited here. But you have nothing, and so we must create for you a modern identity, along with the documentation needed to support it. That has to happen for you to get the necessary identification in order to move freely and safely around in society on your own. You will be called upon to present these credentials at various times and places, you see, and without them, you will be treated with suspicion, and that will be a very dangerous situation. It would possibly even result in your arrest. Now, I’m going to sponsor your membership personally, so there will be no little problems getting you through the process, and getting it expedited. But there will still be questions. And a medical examination. It will be very important for you to answer the questions exactly as I tell you to answer them. Can you do that?”

“I can.” She said without hesitation. Whether it was her trust in John Smith, or in Lord M, she did not question his instructions. But if this place was as dangerous as he indicated, then he was putting himself at risk for her already, trying to help her. She would do everything he said.

“Good. From now on, you cannot be Victoria, Queen of England. You can be Victoria Buckingham. You are from South America, do you understand?”

“South America?”

“Yes. From Brazil.”

“Brazil.”

"And your papers were lost because you came by boat, and your luggage was accidentally dropped over the side, along with all your proof of identification."

"Oh dear. How very unfortunate--and untraceable."

"Exactly," he said huffing a laugh. “How is your Portuguese?”

“Passing fair,” she said. “Not as good as my German or French.”

“Tell them you had English parents, and spoke English in the home.”

“Very well. What occupation were my parents? In case I am asked?”

His eyebrows shot up and he sighed.

“Your mother was an English piano teacher. Your father was an American soldier—an officer in the Navy. They met when he was stationed in Britain before the war, and married. Then the war broke out. He was reassigned to Brazil to assist in training the Brazilian Expeditionary Force, so he moved to Brazil and took his wife—and child—with him. During the war, your father was killed in action, off a campaign in Northern Africa. Your mother raised you alone. But about two months ago, she died of malaria. You are left, orphaned and alone, and have decided to immigrate to your father’s home country to make a fresh start at life. You are here in New York because you are a friend of my family. And our families have known each other a long time.”

“And if I am asked to explain the connection?”

“I knew your father in the war, and served with him when I was in the American Army. That’s all you need to say. Further questions will come to me.”

"But you said my father was to have been in the Navy."

"We were on an Army-Navy Task Force together when he was based in Washington D.C. for a time."

He didn't miss a beat. It was her turn to smile.

He returned it. "As I said. All you have to say is that your father and I served together. All other questions will come to me, and I'll take it from there."

She took a deep breath. “Have you ever been to Brazil?”

“Never.” He said shaking his head.

They both broke out in chuckles then.

“Whatever shall I do if I am asked to describe where I lived? The name of the town, for instance?”

“You are from Natal. The capital city of Rio Grande Do Norte, the site of the US Naval air base where your father served.” He sighed again. “There is another matter as well that we need to work out. It’s rather delicate, I’m afraid.”

“Oh?”

“Well, they’re going to do a comprehensive medical exam on you, Victoria. We need to work out the details of…” he cleared his throat and turned a bit pink around the ears. “Why you’re no longer a maiden.” He looked at the floor. “I apologize for the necessity…”

“Do not concern yourself. I understand that frankness is needed.”

He nodded, but still did not raise his eyes. “You will have to explain also that you’ve had children. They’ll be able to tell. And the worst of it is, it’s not a good idea for you to have been married before. Or of loose morals.”

“I was violated,” she said primly.

He looked like he almost choked.

“By a young German I went to school with. He got me with child. But the child died of a fever at age two. I have never gotten over his loss. Will that do?”

“Yes,” he said, clearing his throat. “I think it will.”

When breakfast arrived, they spent the next half hour going over her background story for her, until she had all her questions answered and all her replies prepared so well she could answer them automatically.

“There is more that you need to know, of course. But the first step today is this. Rule one—never express anything but love and devotion to the Führer. Rule two—remember you’re always being watched, recorded and listened to. Rule three—well, is to get through immigration today.” He smiled again.

“Thank you, John,” she said with a smile as they sat back over tea and coffee after a very complete breakfast. “You are a wonderful teacher. And I do not know how to thank you for all your help.”

“It’s not necessary to thank me. Just remember what we talked about. Answer like I told you. And you should do fine.”

Once they had both said all they needed to, John switched the machine back on, and they chatted over the remnants of their meal about her life in Brazil for the benefit of the recording, and he told her what she could expect from her naturalization process in immigration. It was, in effect, a kind of dress rehearsal for the ordeal she would be facing later today. Yes, she was of English and American descent, no doubt Aryan. Yes, she was seeking citizenship and wanted to begin a new life in the Reich. She had learned piano from her mother well, and felt she could earn herself a living teaching private lessons, or perhaps in school. And yes, she was still of child-bearing age, and was open to finding a husband in the Reich and becoming a wife and mother.

She listened as John explained that was an important value in the Reich—that women marry and have children, that it was good she was still of an age to do both. And though her personal history was tragic, he hoped she’d find a good match here and go on to have a happy life in the GNR. She made appreciative noises and played her part well, expressing enthusiasm for joining the Fatherland, for being a part of a much larger family, and that she looked forward to learning all about it. The fact that she was a friend of John’s family from long ago was also established for the record, as was the fact they had been out of touch since nearly her childhood. This explained John’s personal interest in bringing her into the Reich.

When he was satisfied that enough back story had been chatted upon, he turned the surveillance off again for a moment.

“Well done,” he said. “I didn’t want to say this with this thing running, but as our families are supposed to be good friends, there are some other things you need to know about me. In case you are asked, it is important you do not express surprise.”

“Of course.”

He picked up a small frame from his desk, held it for a moment and handed it to her.

“My family.”

Victoria held the portrait in a trembling hand. A beautiful, voluptuous redhead with very red lips smiled at her, surrounded by three beautiful children. A boy and two girls. The portrait was tremendously lifelike. As if they were standing before her.

“Oh.” She said softly, feeling like she’d been punched in the chest.

He sat next to her on the sofa. “My wife, Helen. My son, Thomas. My daughters, Jennifer and Amy.”

“I did not know…I never even thought to ask…”

“Thomas is dead,” he whispered.

His words hit her like a wall.

"Dead? How? Oh John, I'm so sorry!"

He shrugged. "Thank you. I'm afraid its a rather complicated explanation. You see, in the Reich, being healthy is highly valued, and Thomas had a disease from which there was no recovery. In the Reich that means…means he must be…” he drew a ragged breath.

“I don't understand." Victoria turned a tearful face to him. "Was he ill?"

“Yes. But he did not die of his illness. The Reich has a policy. Very stringent rules about sicknesses that can be passed down to one's children. If you are suffering from an illness that can be cured, the Reich will cure you. But if your illness has no cure, then you are considered not useful to society. Thomas's illness was genetic, which means he inherited it. From me." His green eyes met hers and they were lost. "My elder brother died of the same illness, something called Facioscapulohumeral muscular dystrophy. The disease was debilitating and has no cure. Therefore the Reich...the policy is that...you should...die."

"Being ill is punishable by death here? Surely not! Surely I have misunderstood you!"

"Only certain kinds," he said, tears streaming down his face. "Thomas he...believed in the Reich. When he found out that his illness had no cure, he...reported himself. Turned himself in to the authorities,” John said finally through his tears. "He believed it to be the right thing to do. And...and he died."

“Oh John. I am so sorry.”

“They’ve made him into a hero. A martyr to the state. You will doubtless be asked about him. You should know.” He ran a hand down his face to wipe away his tears. "If they ask you anything, remember that his family is very proud of him, though we miss him everyday."

She nodded, trying to absorb this information. Her mind flooded with questions, but clearly it was not the time to ask any of them. How could such a world exist, where innocent children were taken from their families and executed for having a sickly constitution? Surely that was not their fault. Perhaps later she would have another opportunity to ask him more.

She returned thoughtfully to the picture in her hands. The smiling family. The handsome boy, so like his father, and her eyes filled with tears. For the boy. For the family he left behind. For the man before her, who had lost a son. And finally for her own self, as she looked again at Helen Smith.

“Thank you for telling me,” she said, trying to swallow her sadness for them all, as well as her own disappointment and heartache. And if truth be told…jealousy. He had a family. A wife. And she was very beautiful. She had no reason to be jealous, she knew. It was not as if she was not a married woman herself with her own children. But still she could not help feeling a sharp, stabbing pain. She felt so very plain, so very small and mousy compared to his wife. He could only think her so, she thought, swallowing hard.

“Helen has left me,” he whispered.

“What?” His words cut through her thoughts like a knife.

He shook his head. “Two months ago she…she took the girls and went to the Neutral Zone.” He turned his shimmering eyes to her. “Its an…area…in the Rocky Mountains. A buffer zone between the Reich and the Japanese Pacific States. Its a lawless place, but her brother is there. Thomas’s death hit her very hard. She…just…” he shrugged. “Couldn’t…”

“The death of a child is very hard to bear,” she said.

He nodded. “It is bound to come up in immigration. All of this. I wanted you to hear it from me first. You should not in any way appear to be surprised.”

“Have I met your wife?”

“No. You have heard me speak of her often though, and are looking forward to seeing her soon.”

“I see.”

He gently took the photo from her hands and looking at it a moment, placed it back on his desk. Victoria felt as if she had taken a sudden fall from a horse and had the wind knocked out of her. She had a hard time swallowing her disappointment.

Disappointment for what, she had not the time nor inclination to examine too closely just at the moment.

“Do you miss her?”

“Hmm?” he turned to her. “Yes. I do. We’ve been married twenty years. Its not something so easily set aside. At least not on my part.” He returned to the settee and sat beside her. “Another reason I wanted to establish that you and I are old friends. There are bound to be questions, Victoria. They will suspect you are my mistress. Of course, you are not, but now that my wife is gone and I am going to be spending time with you, taking an interest in your citizenship, questions are bound to be raised.”

“I do not wish to impose myself on you. If I am going to cause you any problems…”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” he said shaking his head. “But we will have to take certain measures to minimize the damage to us both. The last thing either of us need is Berlin taking an interest in you. I will do my best to keep that from happening. As long as you play your part, you can look to me for the rest.”

“Thank you. You are very kind.”

He snorted. “I’ve been accused of many things. Kindness is rarely one of them.”

“You have ever been the best man I have ever known. Now is no different.” She said it without thinking. With utter conviction of its truth. “So thank you. For everything.”

* * *

He blinked at her once in surprise. He knew exactly who she meant. What her statement meant.

“I am not him, Victoria,” he whispered. “I can never be. It would be a mistake for you to confuse us.”

“Lord M and I were very close,” she said to him. “We were not lovers. But we were as close as two people can be who are not lovers. It would be a mistake for you to assume that I could ever confuse him for anyone he is not.”

“Did you wish to be lovers?” He heard himself say. It was an impertinent question, but they seemed to both be in a mood for honesty in these last few moments before he had to switch the surveillance back on. And somehow...he wanted to know. Needed to know. For reasons he could not even explain to himself.

“I did not know what it meant to be lovers,” she said, the blush rising attractively into her cheeks. “I was still a maiden. But now that I understand more…yes,” she whispered the word. “I did wish it. Without really knowing what it was I wished for. I wished it nevertheless with all my heart.”

“He must have felt the same,” he heard himself say. Somehow the admission pleased him deeply.

“Oh,” she smiled ruefully. “I sometimes think so. And sometimes I think he must have found me a troublesome girl queen who was always far too demanding of his time. I don’t know…perhaps he had a lover already that he wished to be with and I…kept him away from her.” She had dropped her eyes to her hands, folded primly in her lap. “In which case I think he must have secretly cursed me at times.”

“There was no one else.” Again he spoke with complete conviction.

She looked up in surprise, her eyes seeking his.

John Smith did not know where it came from. But he knew he was right. He reached out and took her hand in his. Her breath caught sharply at the gesture. “From the time you met, there was no room for anyone in his heart ever again but you. I’m sure of it. And far from cursing you, he blessed the day he met you.”

She exhaled sharply, and John saw tears begin to threaten. He had the strongest desire to kiss her. But instead, he placed her hand gently back into her lap.

“You are a remarkable woman,” he said instead. “I cannot imagine any man in Lord M’s position feeling any other way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts, anyone? You know I love to hear them! 
> 
> There will be more to come very soon! :)


	8. Immigration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With John's help, Victoria goes through immigration. Afterwards, John sends her on a little mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “It is better to be feared than loved.”  
> ― Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

**Chapter 8—Immigration**

Victoria was very glad of her debriefing with John before going through the immigration process. He walked her downstairs, hand on her arm, taking her to the front of the queue and having a word with the receptionist. The receptionist ushered her back immediately, where John spoke with the next official, and handed him a manila folder. This man too, was more than eager to help expedite her through. Taking the folder and reading it, he scrambled into a hasty salute.

“Mr. Hastings here will escort you through the process from here on out,” John said to her, laying a hand softly on her arm and smiling. “He has his orders. That file should take care of everything you need. When you finish here, stop by my office,” he gave her a conspiratorial smile, and she knew the words he was using were because others were listening. “And I will make sure you have been properly attended to.”

“I shall. Thank you John.”

“Anything for Colonel Buckingham’s daughter,” he said with a grin.

She shared his smile, and bade him farewell. He was very, very good at this game, was John. It gave her pause to wonder at this world she found herself in, and how often it necessitated perfecting such a skill.

Fumbling in his eagerness, pulling out chairs and opening doors for her, poor Mr. Hastings hurried to carry out John’s orders, clearly nervous and eager to make a good impression. It was almost like home again, whenever Victoria had found herself meeting one of her subjects for the first time. She had always found it charming, and had gone out of her way to be gracious in such cases and put their mind at ease. She had to stop herself responding in the same way here, merely thanking the man for his helpfulness, and reassuring him with her smile that her report back to the Reichsmarschall would be a favorable one.

He walked her from station to station, expediting each level of the process with the folder John had given him, and a whispered word to the next official. Each time she was shown to the front of the queue. She answered all the questions they put to her exactly as John had bidden her to, and as he suspected, they had tried to test her knowledge of him by asking questions about Thomas, and the other children. About the whereabouts of Mrs. Smith.

The questions were indirect, insidiously worded to trip her up. They were sure that Helen Smith had welcomed her to the fold. How did she find Mrs. Smith? They were sure they must be the best of friends? Were they perhaps to go for a bit of shopping later? She answered all of them that she had heard much of, but had yet to see, Mrs. Smith, but was certainly looking forward to meeting her and the girls upon their return to the Reich. That she was sorely sorry for the death of their eldest child, and yes, his sacrifice was certainly heroic and must be a source of great pride for his parents.

The questions about her own background were just as extensive, and she was glad that she and John had hashed it out so thoroughly beforehand.

Yes it was unfortunate that all her papers had been lost overboard. Yes, all of them. No, she knew of no copies. She'd brought the originals because she had planned her move to be a permanent one. She planned to serve the Reich as a piano teacher. Yes, she was of marriageable age and inclination. Yes, she would like nothing better than to marry a good citizen of the Reich, settle down and raise children. Yes, her parents were American and British. She had obtained her accent through her mother’s exacting standards for her speech. Yes, both parents were deceased. She was an only child...

On and on it went, but Victoria answered all questions with long-practiced poise, and the natural dignity that Lord M had so often praised her with.

It stuck in her throat, really, all of it. There was something sinister about all of this place. About these hideously gray, utilitarian rooms. About the long rows of families, seated in uncomfortable chairs, with long, hopeless, nervous faces that she passed on her way to the front of each line, about these people in their white coats, with their unctuous smiles and oily questions. Something poisonous about the very air of the place that she could not entirely label.

She sensed in their persistent, probing questions the trap—not entirely laid for herself, but for him as well. Despite their seeming to revere him, they were hungry for his downfall. Again and again, they tried to pry into her knowledge of him…asking the same questions from different angles…searching her for anything about her story that would betray them both. Since he had put himself out on a limb personally with her recommendation for citizenship, and his great efforts to expedite it, he was in as much danger as she if her story was deemed untrue. Very quickly her resentments were stirred against them all, and she began to understand the cold facade he presented to the world at large. She would simply not allow herself to be the tool of his undoing. So she answered everything with exacting detail, no matter how many times it was asked of her, and with every ounce of imperious finality she could bring into the reply, until finally the questions subsided.

Then came the physical examination. John had warned her it would be invasive. She would have to bare herself before the doctor and nurses. Submit to tests of skin and eye color, tests so exacting as to measure her proportions minutely and with precision. They would take ‘photographs’ of her insides. Victoria understood very little of photography as it was a new science in her time, but she had seen the miracle photographs in John’s office and elsewhere, and thought it not beyond imagining that if they could reproduce a person’s exterior so faithfully, that somehow, in this world of magic box rooms that raised one from floor to floor and carriages that moved about on their own, they could faithfully reproduce one’s insides in photographic form, as well.

Again, came a new, more personal round of questions. She was asked about her medical and family history. Her father died in service to the American Navy during the war. Her mother died two years hence of malaria. No, she did not herself have the disease, and never had. And on and on it went.

Then, as John had warned, came the truly outrageous questions.

No, she was not a virgin. No, she had never been married, but she had been violated. The violation had resulted in a child. The child had died of a fever by age two. Yes, she did feel sufficiently recovered to become a wife and mother in the Reich.

Once the questions had ended, the examination had begun. She had disrobed. She had been examined all over. Her height and weight taken. Her head measured. Her features cataloged. Her body ‘X-rayed’. Through it all, Victoria bore it with as great a dignity as she could muster, and silently, prayerfully, whispered an apology to Lady Flora, who had once endured such an ordeal under Victoria’s own misguided directives.

By the end she was pronounced to be very much of Aryan descent, in excellent health and condition, and, crucially, still of child-bearing age and quite capable of bearing another. Therefore she was permitted to begin life anew in the Reich.

She left the immigration area with her new identity in hand. She was officially named Victoria Buckingham, citizen of the American GNR, with all privileges and rights thereto granted, pending her citizenship test, which would be held in a month's time. When she returned to John’s office he was very pleased.

“Yes, very well done.” He nodded in satisfaction, observing each document carefully. “You did very well today,” he said, after switching off his surveillance device. “Don’t worry about the test. I can help you study for that. By the time you have to take it, you'll be an expert on the Reich. So. How was it?”

“It was terrible,” she said, collapsing onto his settee. “If you had not warned me I should have gone to pieces.”

“I’m sorry to put you through it,” he said with a sigh. “I would not have done if it had not been necessary.”

“I know, John…” she bit her lip, twisting her hands. “They were exceedingly interested in our connection. They asked me about you continually.”

“Yes,” he said with a sigh, sinking into his leather chair opposite her. “I thought they might.”

“It was just like you said. They tried to trap me. With your wife, your son.”

He nodded, ran a hand through his hair.

“They are a pit of vipers!” She said with a shudder. “How ever do you bear it?”

He shook his head. “Victoria…you can’t…you mustn’t say such things.”

“It is true!”

“Yes…but you mustn’t say it!” His moss-green eyes pleaded with her. “Not ever. Do you understand? It is the difference between life and death here.”

She nodded. “They want to harm more than I. You will be careful, won’t you?”

“Yes, I will.” He smiled at her. “I’m a big boy, Your Majesty. I promise I’ll watch my back.”

A painful lump formed in her throat at his use of her title. 

“I hope I did not disgrace you. Or endanger you today. I did not fully comprehend the risk you took for me until I was there.”

“You did fine,” he said with a smile. “But no doubt they still believe you to be my mistress. Or that I at least plan to make you my mistress.” He gave her a rueful look. “But without Helen here, I'm afraid there’s not going to be any real way to direct them away from that idea.”

“I’m sorry to have brought trouble to your door,” she said, with a twist of her hands.

“You did not,” he said, laying a hand on both of hers soothingly. She looked up into his eyes. “I know what I’m up against. I know what you’re up against. Trust me. I’ll see you through this.”

“And what of yourself?”

His eyes turned glassy and he gave her a sad smile as his hand tightened on hers. “Don’t worry about me.”

His words were spoken in reassurance. But there was an edge in them that disturbed her down to her soul. She was afraid for him, this big, dark man in black. Intimidating and powerful as a mountain, strong and mighty as Colossus, nevertheless, she felt his vulnerability. She turned her hands over in his and clasped them both around his own. More than vulnerability. There was an acquiescence about the precarious nature of his position that frightened her. Whatever he believed his fate to be, he had already accepted it.

“I do not wish you to come to any harm.” She whispered fervently.

He laid his other hand over hers. “Thank you,” he said simply. “Trust me. I know my way around the snake pits fairly well. I no more want to be bitten than you want me to be.”

* * *

They smiled into each other’s eyes for a few minutes, their hands still clasped. Her genuine concern for him touched him deeply. 

“You did well today,” he said again, and meant it. There was something so regal about her. The set of her slight shoulders, the way she held herself with such quiet dignity. Had he not already decided to believe she was who she claimed to be, that alone would have given him cause to believe her. She had done to the letter everything he had asked of her with such utter trust, it humbled him. He knew it was not so much for his own sake as for Melbourne’s, and his resemblance to the man she loved so much that she placed such faith in him. He vowed to himself—to both of them—that he would not allow her trust to be misplaced.

They held hands a beat longer, John unwilling to remove his own, lost in the deep blue of her eyes. She really should not be here. Every protective instinct inside of him wanted to send her home. Safe, where the Reich’s long arm could never find or harm her. Where she could not be…twisted…corrupted. But every selfish instinct inside of him wanted her never to leave his side. Needed to see her eyes shine like that whenever she looked at him. In her eyes, he was a hero. And he wanted to be that man. He wanted to be her hero. More than anything.

But how fragile he knew it was. How easy it would be to disillusion her. Enough time here, enough exposure to what she had walked into—to what he represented—it was bound to happen. The day would come she would see and understand the truth of it all. And that day, the full horror of what he had become would come crashing down upon them both and swallow up whatever goodness might be left of him, and the beauty of her dream along with him.

He took a deep breath, tried to smile at her. It was impossible not to be charmed by her belief in him. Impossible not to feel flattered. And he was both of those things. His lonely heart drank deep of the admiration and concern he saw brimming in her eyes. He couldn’t help himself. He was starving for it. She was water. She was light. She was nourishment for his parched soul. And he could not get enough of her.

He stroked her hands with his own. They were so soft. So tiny. And yet so strong. And he wanted to kiss them and rain down adoration on them, on her…

She was stroking his hands back, and he felt her willing her strength into him, and John felt her concern for his own well-being might be his undoing.

Finally, he squeezed them a little in farewell, and broke away, and the moment between them passed.

“Now,” he said, clearing his throat and attempting to rein in his thoughts and channel them in a practical direction, “I imagine you’ll be needing some things to get yourself fixed up. So I’ve arranged for you to have a little shopping trip this afternoon.”

“Shopping? Whatever for?”

“Oh…you know, this and that. Whatever you need to help you feel more comfortable here. Clothes and cosmetics and maybe a trip to the beauty parlor. That kind of thing. Whatever you need to get yourself established."

“John! I—”

“Nonsense,” he said, holding up a hand. “I know what you’re going to say. Don’t. You’d do exactly the same for me if our positions were reversed wouldn’t you? Admit it.”

“Without hesitation.”

“Well, there you go.”

“But I imagine you would feel about that as I do at this moment. That you did not wish to be in the position where you had no choice but to accept my generosity.”

He inclined his head in acknowledgment. “And _you_ , doubtless, would feel just like _I_ do at this moment, that the money could not possibly be better spent.”

She sighed, and dropped her eyes to her hands. Nodding.

“I know this is not a comfortable place for you to be in. And you’re not used to it. But please allow me to assist you in whatever you need. Truly, it is my pleasure.”

“Do you not think it will further everyone’s suspicions that I am to be your mistress if you do?”

He sighed. “I don’t see how that can be helped unless you have a boyfriend up your sleeve.”

“I do not.”

“Oh well. It’s just as well. The only other way to quell that would be for me to leave you completely alone, to sink or swim by yourself. And I don't plan to do that. I plan to take care of you, Victoria. You are a visiting Queen, after all. We will be as discreet as possible, but there’s no way to make it completely foolproof. That’s through no wrong-doing on your own, and entirely because of my family situation, but there it is. Does it bother you, if that rumor gets going? Does it…offend you in any way? I mean…apart from the obvious, I guess?”

She sighed again and shook her head. “It is so very strange, all of this. As if history were repeating itself. It was always rumored of us. They called me Mrs. Melbourne almost from the start. I suppose if it did not bother me then, it does not bother me now.”

Again, she spoke without thinking, mixing himself and Melbourne. He frowned at this. But whether it was her mistaken notion or his own identity crisis that caused him pain he could not say.

“Well. If it does not bother you, then it does not bother me, either.” He didn’t add the fact that he couldn’t bring himself to be sorry if it were true. Though it was not his plan to seduce her, and he would never initiate it, he couldn't say he would be sorry if it were to happen between them. 

He stood suddenly and walked back to his desk, just to give himself something to do. To put some space between them. Victoria stood as well.

“My car is waiting to take you to Madame Edith’s. She has a clothing salon in the fashion district of the city. Madame Edith has her finger on the pulse of all things fashionable in the Reich, or so I'm told. She’s expecting you. She knows to fix you up with whatever you need and want, and who the bill is coming to. Now, I want you not to worry about the price. Buy what you need to feel good while you’re here, Victoria. You must feel like you can hold your head up high among the other ladies in society. Whatever you need to make that happen, buy it.”

“Are you entirely sure you wish to make me such a generous offer? Perhaps I have very expensive taste?” She arched a brow, smiling.

“No doubt you do, Your Majesty,” he returned her smile. “My wife is no stranger to Madame Edith’s. I can assure you I am no stranger to what it costs whenever she makes a trip there. No, I mean it. I want to do this for you. Now go and enjoy yourself, and don’t pinch pennies. Go get your hair done if you want--anything. That’s an order.”

“Shall I salute you as I accept my orders, Reichsmarschall?” Her coy expression deepened.

John felt his body stir at her words, at the expression in her eyes. _Good God!_

“Do I need to exact a salute from you to make sure my orders are carried out?” He stepped into her space, caught up, despite his best intentions, in the pull of her beautiful eyes and the come hither expression in them.

Her pretty lips curled into an inviting smile, and John instantly wanted to kiss her. That, and much more.

“Perhaps not this time,” she said.

“Good,” he said, smiling. “Then you understand fully what you are to do?”

“I’m to go and waste your money outrageously on a lot of things for myself, apparently.”

“Yes you are. Though I disagree that it could ever be a waste. Let Madame Edith be your guide. There is no one in the whole of the American Reich more suited to the task. Then what do you say I meet you at your dormitory by eight o’clock for dinner? You can tell me all about your purchases, and we can maybe make plans to get you launched as a piano teacher. But that doesn’t have to be right away. You can take some time first. Get acclimated to the twentieth century. To New York.”

“That is very generous of you, John,” she said with feeling. “Yes, eight o’clock would be most suitable.”

“Good. I will see you then,” he said with a smile, feeling like a teenager who’d just scored a date with the girl of his dreams. In an odd way, he supposed he was. “Oh. And one other thing. I’ve assigned a few men to accompany you.”

“To accompany me? While I go to the shops?”

“Its a precaution. For your safety.”

He saw her take a deep breath, considering. Finally she nodded with a good grace.

“Very well. Am I permitted at least to thank you?”

He smiled down at her. “I think I could permit that.”

“Then thank you, Reichsmarschall.” She said softly, placing a hand affectionately on his arm. “For everything.”

It was a simple gesture, but he felt her touch like a brand. They stood a long moment that way, her hand on his arm, locked in each other’s eyes. Eight o’clock suddenly felt like an eternity away.

"You're very welcome," he finished quietly.

Her hand dropped, and he took a breath and stepped away from her, clearing his throat. Going back to his desk, he summoned Metzger. “Escort Miss Buckingham down to the car, would you, Major? Make sure she gets in safely.”

“Of course Sir.”

He watched her walk out of his office, turning back once to give him a radiant smile. He returned it, sighing as the door closed. Switching the surveillance back on, he lit up a cigarette and walked to the window, taking a long, slow drag. He needed a cigarette by now. Well, actually no. What he really needed was something else. But that was something he couldn’t have.


	9. An Eventful Afternoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After her shopping spree goes awry, John is forced to take more drastic measures to keep Victoria safe. But are they out of the frying pan and into the fire?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “When I used to read fairy-tales, I fancied that kind of thing never happened, and now here I am in the middle of one!”  
> ― Lewis Carroll

**Chapter 9—An Eventful Afternoon**

“You must be Victoria!” A tall, elegant-looking woman with enormous blond hair and a tight fitting red and black dress met Victoria at the shopfront where John’s car pulled up to the curb. Victoria's escorts, a pair of very serious young men in uniform, were never more than two steps behind her at any given point as she was swept bodily through the glass storefront into the shop of ready-made clothing. “I am Madame Edith. Welcome to my establishment! The Reichsmarschall has called and told me all about it, my dear! Come with me,” she said with a conspiratorial smile. “I treat all my highest profile VIP customers in the back. I think we shall be able to find exactly what you are looking for!”

In the VIP room, Madame Edith took her measurements and then seated Victoria comfortably, with her two armed escorts flanking her on either side. It was almost like being at home again, she reflected, though she'd never been to a shop before. All of her clothing had been handled through Jenkins, then Skerrett, with Harriet as her advisor to the latest fashions. What an amusing novelty this was, shopping for future clothes like a future woman! And clearly, John's intervention had as remarkable an effect on Madame Edith as it had in immigration. Truly, the Reichsmarschall's arm had a long reach. 

Once she had been settled comfortably and been provided some refreshment, women--called models--dressed in different outfits were then paraded before her. Madame Edith sat beside her, explaining the latest in Reich fashions and talking her through the different outfits and options. All of them has been selected in colors, fabrics and styles that would compliment and highlight her natural beauty. Yes, if she saw something she liked, she could walk out with it today. Yes, she could order something in a different color and have it custom made. Yes, Madame Edith could supply her with all supporting garments and undergarments, stockings, shoes, bonnets and even reticules—which apparently were called handbags here. Even some accessory pieces if she so chose. Of course, Madame Edith would be happy to recommend a salon where Victoria could purchase cosmetics, even have someone teach her how to apply them. Yes, she could even have her hair cut and styled according to the latest Reich fashions.

The afternoon passed pleasantly, and Victoria selected many different outfits for different purposes. Most of course were for basic daily wear, suitable for business outings and piano lessons. A few were for stylish evening engagements, should the need arise. She even selected a few pairs of men’s breeches, or rather the ladies’ version—pedal pushers, they were called—that she could wear to take exercise in, or when she wished to work in the garden and wanted to spare her dresses the wear and tear. Victoria had never worn breeches before, and she planned to indulge the novelty, especially now that Albert was not here to disapprove.

In fact, she planned to indulge in a great many things while she was here in which her husband would categorically not approve, and she was going to enjoy each and every one of them to the fullest.

By the time she left Madame Edith's, she had quite filled the Reichsmarschall’s storage compartment in his long black car with bags of skirts, blouses (so they called shirtwaists here), jackets, scarves, bonnets, shoes, “handbags”, stockings, “girdles” (the future version of a corset), “bras” (the odd garment worn to support her breasts), “panties” (short for pantaloons), gowns, pedal-pusher breeches and even night attire. She had purchased so much that she had to arrange for some of it to be delivered to her apartment, for not all of it would fit in the Reichsmarschall’s car. And then of course there were a few custom-made pieces, and some alterations she had ordered, which would arrive within the fortnight.

She sat back as the driver hurried her on to her next stop—something called a beauty salon, recommended by Madame Edith--on the next street. There she spent another few hours learning about cosmetics—what to buy and how to apply them.

To begin with, she allowed herself to be given something called a ‘spa treatment’, in which her face was cleaned comprehensively, covered over with a sort of clay, left to harden, then rinsed away again, and finally finished with a light lotion called ‘moisturizer’, until the skin of her face positively glowed with happiness. She also was treated to the double delight of a pedicure and a manicure--where a team of technicians cared for her hands and feet and polished the nails of both in a bright red. 

Then a team of two other ladies applied her cosmetics, teaching her all about which ones they were using, what colors would be most suitable to her complexion, and how to achieve the ‘look’ they were applying when she was left to her own devices. It seemed simple enough, and the effect was remarkable. She then happily allowed another woman to cut and style her hair so that it too was more _au courant._

By the time Victoria left the salon, her hair was shockingly short. The front was trimmed across her forehead in a fringe, and the back danced jauntily across her shoulders, the ends of it flipped upwards in a wide sweeping curl that bounced most energetically as she walked. Her face was entirely painted with cosmetics, as were her nails, and she had yet more bags of beauty supplies, fragrance, and a few odds and ends for her home for her escorts to load into the car.

When the afternoon shopping was done she settled back in satisfaction. John had been right. She looked like a real future woman now. And she felt like one, too. Indeed if anyone saw her on the street they would never guess at her origins at all. It had been a thoroughly delightful experience, and had done wonders for her morale.

Albert, could he see her now, would be absolutely horrified, shocked, and furious. No doubt he would weep and beg her to remove it all, not content until he’d robbed her of all enjoyment and made her feel guilty for ever even thinking of engaging in such extreme fashions. Her eyes rolled. She should never hear the end of it. But thankfully he wasn’t here, and what he didn’t know wouldn’t kill her. The knowledge made her smile. For the first time since her marriage, she felt free. To be herself, look herself, and enjoy expressing her own tastes, with no one at all to tell her no.

After all, her hair would grow again, for heaven’s sake. And she would not ever get to wear such dramatic cosmetics at home. She might as well get to enjoy the future to the fullest extent while she could.

The only big question she had now was whether or not John would like the effect when he saw her again. Judging from the looks on the faces of her escorts and her driver, she rather imagined he would.

* * *

The door to the Cafe New York opened with a tinkle of an overhead bell, admitting a young woman. She was of non-remarkable height and plainly dressed for the Reich, wearing a skirt and blouse of nondescript color and fabric. Her hair, a nondescript shade of brown. Her face, very nondescript and absent of all makeup. She was faintly pretty, if one wanted to look hard enough at her to be able to see it. But then, she was not the sort of woman anyone would ever work that hard to notice.

He did not notice her either as she slipped into the booth with him. Did not look up from his newspaper as the waiter came to take her order.

“Do you have a light?”

He looked up then disinterestedly, obliging her by taking out his bic and striking up a flame. She leaned over, lit her cigarette with thanks.

“Well?” he said, his eyes returning to the newspaper in his hands, looking as bored as possible.

“New woman,” his companion whispered low. “On a shopping spree at Madame Edith’s, followed by a trip to Chez Emile.”

“What of it?” He drawled, turning the page of his paper dispassionately.

His companion took a long drag, waited for the foot traffic to pass by, settled herself more deeply into the shadows of the booth.

“She’s using Smith’s car,” she whispered. “Guarded by a couple of his thugs.”

That did peak his interest.

“A mistress?” He whispered.

“Could be. Wife’s been gone for months now, after all.”

“True,” he said, flipping the page. “Description?”

“Brunette. Petite. I’d say no more than about 5’0”, blue eyes. British accent. Pretty. Looks like she’s about 20 years younger than him.”

“Interesting choice,” he said, taking a drag from his own cigarette. “Not much like the missus, is she?”

“Maybe he’s in the mood for something different.”

“So it would seem. What else?”

“She’s taking him to the cleaners. Shopping spree is on his ticket. All the highest quality shit you can find.”

He nodded. “Must be a mistress then. When the cat’s away, eh?”

“I’d say its a pretty strong bet,” she added. “He’s got some big brass ones, I’ll give him that. Parading her around so publicly. Armed guard and all. Couldn’t even get close to her.”

“This could be it,” he whispered, turning the page again, frowning at the paper. “The chink in his armor we've been looking for.”

“Paul’s on it,” she said. “Tailing them. He’ll report back to you where it ends up.”

“Good,” he flipped the page again. “Get back to the warehouse. Call a meeting. We need to act soon, if at all. I’ll meet you there within the hour.”

“Consider it done.” She stubbed out her cigarette, dropped some coins on the table to cover the price of her coffee and was gone again, slipped out into the fading afternoon.

Wyatt Price lowered his paper, tapping his cigarette over the ashtray and permitting himself a small smile. So, the Reichsmarschall had a himself a new doxie, did he? Good. Yes…this was very good news indeed.

He waited fully another fifteen minutes before dropping his own coins on the table and leaving, plans already formulating in his mind. A quick operation was what was required. A quick snatch and grab—nice, simple and neat--and he’d have the Reichsmarschall on his knees.

On his knees was where the fecker belonged, Wyatt brooded darkly as he made his way into the evening light. His sins were too numerous to count. Among his most recent was the capture and arrest of the Abendsens—word had it Smith had been personally responsible. They were probably in the bowels of Nazi HQ at this very moment, suffering God-only-knew-what at his hands. Their loss had struck a big blow right to the heart of the Resistance movement, leaving a vacuum of leadership and direction until Wyatt himself had stepped up to the plate. But there was something else Smith was directly responsible for that made this far more personal between them— Juliana Crain.

He paused for a moment, feeling punched in the gut as ever he did when he thought of her. Inevitably his mind wandered back to that day in the Poconos months ago now—the last time he’d seen her.

They’d just witnessed the Nazi’s top secret project in action—something Himmler called _Die Nebenwelt_. A fecking portal to other words, in which Himmler planned to march troops to pillage and capture whatever they could. If they succeeded, there would be no dimension—no world—safe from the fascist bastards. The Führer's power would be absolute. Everywhere.

It was there in the tunnels next to the damned thing that he’d last seen Juliana Crain. They’d been making their escape when their presence had been detected, and in the ensuing confrontation with Smith's SS troops, a grenade had landed right between himself and Juliana. He’d been pulled away from her, had to leave her behind, not knowing whether she were alive or dead. It was the last time he'd ever seen her.

His eyes closed in pain. If she survived the blast, then Smith had her. And God only knew what he’d done to her.

It was Juliana’s vision of other worlds through her films--hers and Abendsen’s—that had fueled the Resistance. Given them hope. They had given them something to work and fight for—had taught them that the defeat of the Nazis and the PONS was possible. That they could have their own country back again. The entire fecking world could be free.

She’d taught him to believe again, did Juliana. And he did believe. He believed in her. And so, he’d taken up the torch she’d dropped that day in the tunnels. Taken it up in her honor. And he meant to win.

Oh, yes. He had a score to settle with Smith, all right. No doubt about it. And he meant to settle it. Here was a golden opportunity to do just that. If Juliana Crain was alive at all, he wanted her back. Enough to risk his neck to obtain the leverage that just might do it for him.

He struck up a light and lit another cigarette as he waited for the crossing signal, smoking thoughtfully.

If the Reichsmarschall valued his new sally so highly, what would he be willing to trade for her? Would she be enough to secure the release of the Abendsens _and_ Juliana Crain? With all the pomp and circumstance he’d just sent her round New York in, Wyatt was betting the answer would be yes. Though how Smith would explain to Himmler how he’d just exchanged the Reich's three most valuable prisoners for his slag, Wyatt didn’t know. And he didn’t care.

In fact, the whole idea made him chuckle.

And if he didn’t exchange them, well, then Smith’s new favorite little scrubber would snuff it, right before his eyes. And that made him chuckle as well.

Either way, Wyatt thought, Smith loses, and he himself, to some degree or other, gets a bit of his own back. Either he gets Juliana safe and sound, or Smith gets to lose a woman he cares for, too.

An eye for an eye. Tit for tat. The idea was too delicious to pass up.

It was a risky gamble, there was no mistake. Smith was no fool, and there were about a thousand risks involved in a plan like this one. But then, the Nazi regime was never going to be defeated without risk. And to that end, the Resistance needed Juliana and the Abendsen’s back--needed its visionaries to remind them what they fought for. That the war could still be won. 

Hell, _he_ needed Juliana back, for far more personal reasons too. Sure, the risk was great. But the chance of success was too great to pass this up.

It would depend on the results of Paul’s recon, obviously. Some hiding places were more easily hit than others. But if she was easy enough to get to, he saw no reason why they could not strike now. Sooner would be better than later, after all. Every day that went by was another day that the Abendsens and Juliana suffered in the pit of that Nazi hell. One fine day might even be the difference between life and death. Besides, they had the manpower, the firepower, and a place to take her to—everything they needed to pull this off, ready to go at a moment’s notice. There was no reason not to strike while the iron was hot.

He made his way across the street to his truck and, tossing his cigarette aside, hopped in. Cranked it on. Soon he was merging into New York's busy streets. In ten minutes’ time, he’d reach the warehouse. Ledette should have gotten everyone together by now.

It needed to be soon. He’d waited a small eternity for an opportunity like this to come his way. He wasn’t like to get another. With any luck, tomorrow might just dawn on a very different day.

* * *

“Just set the millinery boxes on the stand, there,” Victoria smiled to herself as her tiny bedroom filled with brightly colored bags and boxes, containing all of her purchases. Yes, it was very satisfactory. And for the first time since she’d landed here in this place, she was beginning to feel more herself. It felt good to feel in control of something again. Felt good to be _au courant_ , to have her own possessions about her. And as she happily set about the task of putting her purchases away in her wardrobe, the chest of drawers and vanity, she paused now and again to look at her new reflection in the mirror. Her make up, as the woman had called it, was very flattering, bringing her eyes into sharp relief in a way that made them look sultry and quite enormous, as well as very blue. Her hair would take more getting used to, but she rather liked it’s shorter length and lighter weight, and the freedom of having it swish so satisfactorily about her shoulders as she walked.

She also had taken the liberty of purchasing a few fat, scented candles in charming silver holders to sprinkle about her apartment. It was a relief, she thought, to turn off the electric lights from time to time, and return again to the comforting familiarity of candlelight. And she had to admit, the vanilla scent was most refreshing—a great improvement on beeswax even, to say nothing of tallow.

Once the task of moving in her new wardrobe had been completed, Victoria gave herself over to the pleasure of deciding what outfit she would wear tonight for her dinner with John. She tried a number of combinations, and though she found it all quite charming, she finally settled on a rather basic but elegant black dress suitable for evening wear, in a style that was apparently called a sheath--very close fitting from the bodice to the hem at knee length, topped with a little white jacket Madame Edith had called a “bolero”. She selected matching black undergarments to go beneath—panties, bra, girdle and garter belt. Her stockings were exquisitely sheer and soft, and her black heeled slippers—pumps, as they were called—were the perfect match. With this, she carried a black reticule with silver accents, called a clutch purse, and white gloves.

Her make up, of course, was already done, but she’d powdered herself off just a bit to control the shine of her face. She’d just had time to spritz on some soft, rosy-scented perfume and touch her lipstick with some gloss before settling herself to wait.

* * *

John did not know how long it took him to realize he was pacing the floor of his office. By the time he did, he broke down and poured himself a drink, knocking it back in one gulp before reaching for his cigarettes. He lit up, took a drag and went to stand by the window, gazing out over the city, trying to calm his mind.

He was restless, and he was under no illusion why.

_Victoria._

There had been no other option, aside from what he’d done today. What was necessary to be done to throw suspicion of an illicit affair off of them both he simply couldn’t do without risking her personal safety. Victoria was too ignorant of his time and society to be left on her own—she would end up dead or tortured in very short order. And again, personal feelings aside, she was, as Abendsen had said, one of the most important historical figures of the last two hundred years. If she were to die here, now, God only knew what catastrophic effect that would have on the world at large. All the accomplishments of her long reign. The many children she’d had that had yet to be born who became nearly all the crowned heads of Europe by the turn of the century.

Still. It was hard to reconcile what he knew of Queen Victoria--particularly as an older woman--with his beautiful young visitor. But she would age, of course. In a time and place far removed from this one, after she returned home to fulfill her destiny, her place in the history of the world. The Grandmother of Europe. That’s what she was called. If those children were to never be born, what would the consequences of that one thing alone be on the world he knew? He would have to help her get home somehow. No matter how much he wanted suddenly to keep her here, with him.

The image of Victoria in the arms of her husband swam unbidden to his mind. As did a wave of burning jealousy. It hit him so hard and so unexpectedly that he choked on the cigarette smoke he’d just inhaled…

_…He was walking slowly down the aisle, the long sword of state dominating his view. His steps were measured and slow, as if in a ceremony. His arms ached from the weight of the thing, added to by the confoundedly heavy gold braid of his jacket. It was hot as well, and scratchy as the devil. But she wanted him to wear it. And he could deny her nothing._

_His gut roiled, and he thought he might be violently sick. Only the thought of not disappointing her or calling attention to himself in any way on her wedding day helped him manage to keep his breakfast down, particularly when he saw the bridegroom at the front of the church, young and resplendent in a red jacket and white breeches._

_What a fool he’d been to turn her away._

_But he’d done it for her sake. And for England’s. As he took his place in the very front of an event he wished himself miles away from, he could but pray the young prince would appreciate Victoria for her own merits, and not only because she was Queen of England._

_As he stood in the ceremony and watched his beloved girl take her place beside her groom he took a deep, fortifying breath, and reminded himself he’d done the right thing. For her. For England._

_It became a litany, that saw him through to the end…_

“Reichsmarschall!?”

John looked up abruptly.

“I don’t remember sending for you, Metzger,” he said, forcing the words past a cough, blinking hard to regain himself.

“You…didn’t. Sir…I heard you coughing. Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” he said, frowning. “Do I have any pressing engagements this afternoon?”

“No Sir, not that I am aware.”

“In that case, if you think you can hold down the fort, call me a car. There are some things I need to take care of elsewhere.”

“Yes Sir,” Metzger said, saluting, then turning on his heel for the outer office.

Great. That was all he needed. To have one of these damned episodes here of all places.

It wasn’t until his door was closed on the car that he allowed himself the luxury of wondering just what the hell was happening to him. And where he thought he was going.

There could be only one place he could go.

She was a siren, that woman. And though their dinner was hours away, he could feel her calling him.

* * *

Victoria was flipping through the glossy pages of what was called a “fashion magazine”, filled with everything one needed to know to be _au courant_ in the future when she heard some kind of commotion outside her door. She took a few steps towards it when suddenly it was thrown back, and a pair of roughly-dressed men entered and grabbed her by each arm.

“Unhand me this instant!” She cried, struggling, as they picked her up from the floor and carried her through her door. “Put me down! Ow, you are hurting me!!”

“Shut up!” One of them said, and slapped her across the face hard with his free hand. “Keep your mouth shut, do you hear me? Or I’ll teach you what pain really is!”

No one had ever spoken so roughly to her, and no one, upon no one, had ever struck her before! Victoria struggled, fury fueling her, but their combined grip on her was like iron, and her face where she’d been struck throbbed with the injury.

Events slowed somehow, as if they were moving through water, and dimly Victoria came to realize that she was being abducted.

“Get your filthy hands off me!” She cried with defiance, stopping in the corridor to struggle with her abductors. They would not take her so easily!

But they were bigger, and stronger than she. She hobbled one with a well placed kick of her heeled pumps to his shin, but the aim of her next kick landed ineffectually on the other villain’s thigh as he pulled something out of his jacket pocket and pointed it at her.

A pistol.

The second man followed suit and they quickly grabbed her again. She tried to stifle her terror as they forced her down the hallway between them, each of them with one hand on her arm and the other holding a pistol, both cocked and loaded and pointed at her head.

Halfway down the corridor, two soldiers wielding rifles stepped into their path and took aim.

“HALT!”

“One step closer and she dies!” Said one of Victoria’s captors, pressing the barrel of his pistol sharply into her temple.

“Drop your arms! In the name of the Führer!”

“I don’t do anything in the name of the Führer!”

Just then there was a sharp popping sound, and the man holding the pistol to her head went limp and fell to the floor.

Before she’d had time to react, there was another pop, and her other assailant also lay on the floor. Victoria stared stupidly down at them for a moment, as if expecting them to explain this odd behavior, when finally she registered the dark red bloom on both of their backs. She looked up to see John, stepping out of the shadows behind her, in a swirl of long black leather coat. He replaced his pistol in his holster, and strode toward her with determination, his face set in a grim mask.

He pulled her away from them, and straight into his arms, pressing her tightly to his chest.

Victoria sighed against him as the full horror of what had happened began to wash over her. She had almost been kidnapped! She could have died! If not for John…she pressed herself closer to her rescuer.

“Are you okay?” he whispered into her hair.

She nodded against him, too shaken to speak. He held her for a moment, stroking her back, one hand gently in her hair.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”

“Reichsmarschall!” One of the soldiers addressed John.

“How did these men get in here?” John’s tone of voice was sharp, and Victoria felt it rumble through his chest beneath her ear. “You were to guard her safety!”

“We didn’t see—”

“They came out of nowhere, Sir!”

“Then obviously you did not take my orders very seriously,” he said in a tone of cold menace. “Clean this up. And I want a full report on these men on my desk at 06:00 in the morning. I want to know who they were, who they work for and how they found her. Your inability to follow orders will be addressed at a later time.”

“Yes, Reichsmarschall!”

* * *

Outside the women’s dormitory, in the bushes near the street, Wyatt lowered his binoculars. Nick and Jake were dead. He could see their lifeless forms being carried out of the building by two SS officers.

“Shit!” He pulled out his radio and hissed into it. “Abort! Mission failed. Regroup pattern delta!”

And with that, he melted into the night.


	10. Deeper Down the Rabbit Hole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faced with limited choices, John does the only thing he knows how to do to keep Victoria safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Either the well was very deep, or she fell very slowly, for she had plenty of time as she went down to look about her, and to wonder what was going to happen next. First, she tried to look down and make out what she was coming to, but it was too dark to see anything: then she looked at the sides of the well, and noticed that they were filled with cupboards and book-shelves: here and there she saw maps and pictures hung upon pegs. She took down a jar from one of the shelves as she passed: it was labeled “ORANGE MARMALADE,” but to her great disappointment it was empty: she did not like to drop the jar, for fear of killing somebody underneath, so managed to put it into one of the cupboards as she fell past it.” 
> 
> ― Lewis Carroll, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass

**Chapter 10—Deeper Down the Rabbit Hole**

Victoria did not want to let go of John.

She stood with her head against his chest, drawing strength from his strong, steady heartbeat beneath her cheek, sighing into the warm shelter of his arms as he led her gently back into her apartment and closed the door.

“You’re safe now,” he whispered, smoothing her hair beneath his hand, still holding her. “You’re safe. I’ve got you. It’s all over.”

“Who were those men?” She said as she did finally rally her spirits enough to pull away.

“I don’t know, but I can guess.” He sighed, looking past her, his face set in stern lines. He came back to her after a moment, eyes softening. “You are okay? Did they hurt you at all?” His hands hovered over her shoulders, as if waiting to examine her for injury.

“No. That is…” she touched her face gingerly. She could still feel the man’s hand.

John’s gaze sharpened on her face. “Here. Let me see.”

He put his hands on her face and neck, tilted her head back and leaned in to inspect her closely, sliding his fingertips lightly over her still-throbbing cheek as if he could brush away the pain.

“I don’t think they did you any permanent damage. Though…would you like some ice for your cheek?”

“No. I suppose it is fine.”

He backed away, eyes soft again.

“I’m sorry this happened.”

“Me too. I’m just glad that you were there. Otherwise…” She shivered.

“Glad to be of service…Your Majesty.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and cleared his throat.

Victoria regarded him for a moment, eyes narrowed as something occurred to her.

“How…did you know? Where were you? How were you even here?”

“I got off work a little early,” he said.

Her head tilted to one side. “You were here already. Why did you not knock?”

His eyebrows shot up and he almost smiled. “Well. I thought you might not be ready yet. We did say eight o’clock after all. And it’s barely seven thirty now.”

“You were guarding my door,” She said softly, and could not help the small smile that crept across her face. “You were, weren’t you?”

He didn’t answer right away, just met her eyes with an inscrutable expression. “I couldn’t stay away,” he said finally.

Her heart melted. This big, dark, dangerous man had saved her tonight from an unimaginable fate. There was such power in his frame, such strength, and yet he was so tender with her. So thoughtful. So kind. So much like her beloved.

She found herself moving closer to him. He didn’t back away, just followed her with his eyes, his expression half-afraid, half-hopeful. She stretched up onto her toes, cupped his face lightly with one hand. He sucked in a ragged breath as she touched him, eyes closing, leaning into her touch.

“Thank you,” she whispered against his mouth, then, hardly knowing what she was doing, she placed her lips against his.

She felt the shiver run down his spine as well as her own with the contact, and he moaned softly against her. Oh, not since Lord M had kissed her had any kiss felt so divine. So right. His kiss was gentle, but with a trace of something wild beneath that excited her. She felt herself moving in, seeking him, hungry. So hungry…unable to pull away from him…

* * *

_Fire._

It sizzled along his nerve endings, searing his senses. He half gasped, half moaned against her, his arms coming around her again, unable to tear himself away. It was a gentle, sweet kiss that she favored him with, and John knew who it was really for, but he did not care. Her lips had touched his, and for the moment, it was enough. He felt it chase all through his body. He returned it in kind—gently, so gently, holding himself in check. Receiving carefully, gratefully, but not moving to take any more...

_…He was in a dark carriage. And she was there opposite. They were both alone. Together and in the darkness._

_He saw her dab at her cheeks. “Why must I marry someone else? Why could it not be you, Lord M?” Her voice was plaintive and filled with a hurt that pierced his own heart._

_He sighed. “I wish it could be. As much as you. But if I accepted you, Victoria, I could cost you everything. It was for your sake I could not.”_

_“I cannot stop thinking of your kisses!” she said in a tearful voice. “And how ardently I wish you to go on kissing me forever!”_

_His heart melted. All protest died in his throat and tears sprang to his own eyes._

_“Oh my darling girl,” he whispered. “I would give anything to grant you your wish. You must know it.”_

_“Please…” she said turning to him in the darkness, her face a pale oval in the moonlight. “Please kiss me now. Do not let us waste one moment of time we have left to us, when we could be loving each other. Oh my darling Lord M. I have dreamed of you so. Please...”_

_He crossed to her in an instant, unable to stay away. Pulled her into his arms._

_Breathed her in deeply, loving the scent of lilacs that clung to her hair. He wanted to drown in her scent. Wanted to go on holding her forever. She sighed, melting into his arms, as if in relief. His eyes closed. He felt it too. Relief to hold her at last. As if he held his breath every second she was not in his arms. As if the only comfort and home he would ever know again was here with her. Perhaps it was._

_A tear escaped him and landed in her hair. She turned her face up to him, nuzzled him closely, her lips hungry for his. He felt her hunger before ever tasting it. She was a passionate creature, his darling Queen. They both were. Perhaps that was why they could not stay away from each other. There was something in each one of their natures that sought the other. They were two of a kind, and only in each other’s arms could they ever find peace. Completion._

_He took her lips hungrily, grinding his mouth against hers in defiance of their fate, holding nothing of his feelings back. All the love and longing and desire and pain in his heart, he poured over her, opened his mouth against hers until she shuddered and opened beneath him. He slipped his tongue between her teeth, deepening the kiss, making love blatantly to her mouth, their tears running down their faces, mingling one with the other, falling over his hands as he caressed her cheek…_

John returned to himself to realize he was kissing her with far more passion than he intended, pressing her hard against him as he plundered her mouth with his tongue. He came to himself almost with a jerk of surprise. Victoria was sighing into him, and for a moment, his vision merged with his reality, and he _was_ Lord M, and she herself…and oh, the sweetness of her was so hard to let go…

Finally, he made himself release her. They stood there for a moment, not moving to separate, breathing into each other, steadying the beating of their hearts.

What the hell was happening to him? The vision was as strong as a memory. As if it had truly happened and he was recalling…

“Forgive me,” she whispered. “I fear I got…lost…in the moment.”

“As did I,” he swallowed hard. “And I believe it is I who should ask forgiveness.”

“No, it is I. I should never have taken such a liberty.”

He smiled at her in amusement at her choice of words, at the very idea of Victoria taking liberties with him, which he would more than welcome. “Perhaps it was both of us,” he conceded.

She returned his smile. “Perhaps. Thank you. Truly. I cannot even think about what would have happened to me if you had not been here.”

“There is no need to think about it,” he said, hands on her shoulders, stroking her arms lightly. “It didn’t happen. And I won’t let it happen ever again. I promised I’d keep you safe. And that’s what I intend to do. That’s why you cannot stay here any longer.”

“You wish me to go home?” She pulled away abruptly, sharply, as if offended.

“No. I wish you _safe_ ,” he said with a sigh. “You are safest at home, it is true, but I have no way to send you back there just yet. And tonight proves that you can no longer stay here by yourself.”

“Perhaps if I had a lock to my door,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“If you had had a lock, they would have only shot it off. A lock is not enough security to keep anyone away who truly wants to get to you.”

“Whatever am I to do then?”

“Come and stay with me,” he said without so much as another thought. “The only way I can fully protect you is to have you with me.”

“You wish me to move in with you? Are you quite certain?”

“Yes. I am sorry. I know you value your independence. But unfortunately it seems to be necessary. I cannot assure your safety otherwise.” He huffed a sigh.

“Do not be sorry on my account. I have no aversion to the idea. Only I do not wish to inconvenience _you_ any further."

"It will be no inconvenience to me," he whispered, moving closer, putting his hands on her shoulders again. "I assure you of that."

"Well. Perhaps you may change your mind when you see how much we shall have to move.”

He huffed a laugh, smoothing her hair behind her ear. "Oh, I rather doubt that. But it will have to be done later, for the most part. For tonight, get only what you need for a few days. We’ll have to come back for the rest."

"Very well," she said with a soft smile. "It seems I shall have no end of things to thank you for."

"It is my pleasure to be of assistance, Your Majesty," he whispered, smiling. 

She smiled at him a long moment, and he wanted so very badly to kiss her again. But instead he sent her off to pack, and stood gazing out of her back window thoughtfully. It had to be the Resistance. The attack had all the hallmarks. Somehow they must have targeted her today and seen her as a way to get to him.

John cursed himself for a fool. He’d painted the target on her back with his car and his security detail. By trying to protect her, he’d almost got her kidnapped, and God only knows what would have happened then. He could not even bear to think about how close his unseen enemy had come to achieving their ends.

One thing was crystal clear to him. The two attackers he'd just shot were little more then henchmen. When he found the real masterminds behind this attack, they would pay.

Dearly.

* * *

Victoria went around her room dousing the fragrant vanilla candles with regret. Just as she had begun to make this place feel more like home! Of course, it would never be like home so long as ruffians could barge in and seize her, no matter how many vanilla-scented candles she had set about herself.

She took out one of her new bags and began to pack it. Underclothes. Night attire. A change of clothes for tomorrow—a smart navy blue dress which she folded carefully—cosmetics and several bottles of different concoctions which the sales girl had collectively called, ‘skin care’, and shoes to match tomorrow's dress. Lastly she gathered up her drawings from the night before and Lord M’s pocket-watch. She left the bedroom to find John, hands in his pockets, waiting.

“I’m sorry about dinner,” he said, taking her bag from her. “By the way I don’t think I ever told you. You look lovely.”

“Thank you,” she said, smiling at him. “Dinner is of no consequence. I am perfectly happy to have a simple supper, under the circumstances.”

He led her out of the apartment, through the now-empty hallway where their confrontation had been and handed her into the back of his black car, carefully setting her bag at her feet before sliding in beside her.

“Change of plan, Lieutenant. Take us to my apartment.” John instructed.

“Sir.”

John hit his button on the door, and the glass panel ascended again, dividing the front of the car from the back.

“There’s another benefit of coming to stay with me. My apartment also is not monitored, so we can speak freely while we are there. I do have a housekeeper—Bridget. She cooks and cleans. She’s a good person and you’ll like her, but don’t ever confide in her. Even if she likes you, which she will, she may be called in to report on you at some future date. The less she knows about you, the safer you will both be. Remember the feeling you got today in immigration? Your instincts were correct. And now that you will be staying with me, the stakes will be even higher. It will be even more important that you watch yourself at all times and be careful who you trust.”

She nodded, absorbing this. John was still making a point of not looking at her, and she suspected it was due to the driver. She turned away and gazed out of her own window. What a dangerous place the future seemed to be, where one could never quite be who one wished to be, or even who one was naturally. Where one had to hide oneself at all times and could trust no one. Her heart went out to John Smith, having to live in such a world.

“I understand completely,” she said, looking out of her own window. “I don’t know how to thank you for all you’ve done for me. I truly hope I have not brought too much trouble to your door.”

“You have not brought me any trouble that I cannot handle. Nor that I would not wish to. Don’t worry about me. Or about thanking me either. I’m glad you’re here. It'll be fine, Victoria. So long as we're both careful.”

He slid his hand low across the seat towards her as he looked out of the window. She slid hers towards him, allowing the back of her hand to touch his, for their fingers to open against each other, brushing ever so slightly as they both looked out opposite windows.

Everything had happened so rapidly. She had not even begun to truly think about what had happened back at the apartment. What almost had happened. Where would she be now, if he had not rescued her? Indeed, if he had not been rescuing her since she landed here? But John’s presence had soothed the fear and sting from the situation.

She licked her lips quite unconsciously, remembering their kiss. How it had started off so gentle, how he had suddenly seized her in his arms and kissed her hard and with surprising passion.

It was a kiss so much like his. So much like Lord M’s.

She closed her eyes, the whole of her focus on her fingertips, on the slight friction of his fingers sliding against hers. So different, and yet so much the same. How was she to reconcile it? She tried to remind herself continually that he was a wholly different man, and yet…sometimes. Oh, sometimes he was quite the same, and she did not know what to do with him.

He was married. The remembrance of it crushed her. Though it should not, not really. And was she not married also?

The thought of Albert filled her with guilt. She would return to him presumably, at some point in the near future. Would she return having been unfaithful? And if so, did it even matter that her unfaithfulness had occurred far into the future, with a man from deep in her past?

She closed her eyes. Such thoughts made her dizzy.

But not as dizzy as the feeling of John Smith’s steady stroking of her fingers. As the memory of his strong arms around her, his commanding kiss upon her lips. She could feel it vibrating in the air between them. Something intentional. Fully understood and accepted. Embraced.

“What about your wife?” she surprised herself by asking.

His fingers against hers stilled.

“My wife is in Montana,” he said after some time. “At her brother’s farm.”

“But what if she should return?”

She heard his sigh, and it cut her to the bone.

“She won’t,” he said simply. “There is no need to worry about that.”

“Is it really so certain?” She bit her lip. Her questions were rude. Or at least would have been, were she not moving into his home.

“Yes,” he said heavily. “And if she should come back and find you there, I will deal with the situation. But it is extremely unlikely.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said softly.

His fingers caressed hers again.

“Thank you.”

Had they not both been abandoned by their spouses? Oh, Albert had not left her in a physical sense in the way that John’s wife had left him, but it had been long his habit to ignore her. To be mostly indifferent to her. And as she thought about it, as she watched New York twinkle out of her darkened car window, passing her by in hushed blur, she recognized for the first time where his indifference to her had originated.

About the time of Lord M’s passing.

She closed her eyes as tears threatened. Did she only need to be treated with kindness so long as Lord M was there, as competition? Was Albert’s only motivation for tenderness towards her based upon the idea that she would run to Lord M if he was not? And why, truly, should it matter to him if she did run to him or no, the way that Albert treated her? It was not as if he wished for her affections. Indeed, whenever expressed, he behaved as though her feelings were a burden he must endure.

But there was no mistaking it, now that she had enough distance to see it for what it was. When her darling Lord M died, it was as if Albert decided he no longer had to please her at all. Now that she had no one left to run to. It made her furious. At Albert. At herself. At the mistaken notion that his acceptance of her proposal had meant in fact that she had won his approval, his heart. 

Foolish. She had been so very foolish to suppose it. And now--oh, and now--see where it had lead her.

“How long?” he startled her by asking. “How long has it been since your husband left you?”

“For Saxe-Coburg? About two months. And he plans to be there for the whole of the summer.”

“No. That’s not what I meant. How long since he’s left _you_ , Victoria?”

How did he always do that? Divine her thoughts as easily as if he read them from a book?

She sighed heavily. “Two years.” A tear dropped from her cheek and landed on her gloved hand in her lap. She brought it to her cheek reflectively, wiping the trails away. “Since Lord M died.”

He sighed, shook his head. “Your husband is a fool.”

She smiled despite herself.

“Thank you for saying so. I am sure if he were here he could cite many grievances and lay the fault entirely at my door. Perhaps he is right.”

“He is not right. The fault is his for being a damned fool and a coward. Not yours.”

“You are very kind. Though perhaps if you were privy to more information—”

“--It would only convince me even more that I am right.”

She felt herself smile.

“You are so very certain. And yet you know me so little.”

He was silent a moment.

“Perhaps I feel I have known you much longer,” he whispered at last.

Her heart skipped a beat and she couldn’t stop herself looking to him. He turned as well and flashed her a quick smile.

“Besides. I’m a very good judge of character.” He said, returning his gaze to his window.

“Well. Thank you.”

“How are you holding up after what happened? You okay?”

“I am sure I will be. It has all happened so fast I can’t quite believe it.”

“You’re in shock probably. It will hit you later. But hopefully by then we’ll be home.” He looked at her again, his eyes soft. “Don’t worry. You’re safe now. I promise. I am not going to let anything happen to you.”

“I know,” she said smiling, “I cannot thank you enough. I do not know what I should have done if not for you.”

She brushed his fingers again with her own and he smiled, turning back to the window, returning her caress.

“That is not something you will ever have to worry about. I am here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

“Thank you, John,” she said softly, interlacing her fingers with his.

* * *

John took a deep breath as her fingers entwined with his. He closed his eyes involuntarily. Oh, her touch! He could not bear to not be touching her. He was still reeling from the kiss they had shared, from the bottomless hunger it had stirred in his blood. He wanted to scoop her up and put her on his lap, wrap her legs around his waist and bury himself in her. Wanted to fill her mouth with his tongue, her body with his and never stop. He was so ready for her it hurt. He was just thankful it was dark and no one could see the full extent of his problem. 

Her husband was a dolt. How could he have her and not want her every second of the day? 

For a time, neither of them spoke, but the contact of their fingers was enough. He was reassured of her presence, her safety. He opened his eyes, gazing out of his window, his mind in a whirl, his thoughts darkening as he thought about what had almost happened tonight.

Too close. This had been far, far too close a call for his liking.

He still could not place the impulse that had led him to leave his office early and go straight to her dormitory. A singular feeling--an imperative he could not ignore or explain--had compelled him to her door. Thank God he'd obeyed it.

He had arrived in plenty of time. Once he’d established that she was not back yet, he had staked out a place for himself in the shadows by her door, and waited. He had seen her come home, and smiled at the transformation her shopping trip had produced. She’d taken to his century like she belonged in it, and the smile on her face was worth it all. Well. After all, he knew his way around women. Neither of them knew how long she’d be here, after all. If it was longer than a few days, she would need to feel at home, and that meant clothes and things of her own, and a chance to blend in with the other women, to start to acclimate to life here in the Reich.

It had been his pleasure to pamper her so. He had enjoyed the excited sounds of hustle and bustle coming from her apartment, as well as the sight of his SS men off loading all her brightly colored bags and boxes, placing them to her directions inside the tiny apartment. John had chuckled. By God, how much had she bought? Enough to put a serious dent in his account, that was for sure. But he didn't care. Her happiness was so worth it.

When all the activity had finally subsided, he settled in to guard duty. It was over an hour before he was supposed to call for her. Chances are she would be tired and maybe even need a nap. He did not know how long he'd been there when the two thugs came creeping down the hall, and absolutely no sign of the guard he'd posted to keep watch. He’d seen the thugs enter her apartment, heard her squeal of alarm and protest, and within seconds his gun was drawn and he was battling every instinct to go flying to her assistance. He knew better. There were two of their guns and only one of his. Such an act would have easily gotten them both killed. Years of experience as a soldier and an intelligence officer had taught John patience and stealth. So he tamped down hard on his emotions, waiting for the precise moment when the situation would tip into his hand.

Of course, the moment had come and all was well. But there was no way he could leave her there alone after that. He’d put two of who he’d thought were his top men on security detail, only to have them botch it so completely that if not for his presence, she would be God only knows where right now, enduring the unimaginable.

Clearly, there was no way he dared to leave her safety in anyone else’s hands again. But then, by bringing her home, he knew full well he was introducing her to a new kind of danger. But really, no matter where he looked, he could not see a way clear of that now. As long as she was here, Victoria’s life was in jeopardy from one source or another.

The threat to Victoria was twofold. One, the faction that had tried to snatch her tonight--which he strongly suspected was a particularly strong Resistance cell operating in his city, led by one Wyatt Price.

Price, his investigations had revealed, had been linked with Juliana Crain, and was rumored to be her newest lover. It was even strongly suspected that he might have been in the tunnels in _Die Nebenwelt_ at the time of her capture. That made him incredibly dangerous, as far as Smith was concerned. In addition to that, Price had a history of insurgence, spurred on by his personal grievances towards the Reich for the deaths of his family members in Ireland and New York. He’d been a dissident and a trouble-maker from the earliest days of the American Reich, and it was, in fact, highly probable, that Price was one of the Resistance’s biggest current leaders, especially now that Abendsen was in custody.

If Price was behind the attempted kidnapping of Victoria it could only be for one reason. Price had pegged her as John’s new mistress, and planned to use her to get to him. And if that were true, then the motive existed for them to try again. Which meant that there was simply no place left for her to be safe in New York that was not directly under his control.

And therein lay the second and greatest threat to Victoria—Himmler.

The Führer had already frowned upon John for Helen’s desertion. And though many prominent party leaders—Himmler included—had mistresses and lovers and frequently went whoring, these indiscretions were carried on in secrecy, hidden from the public eye. Party leaders must be seen to set an example, after all, and therefore the Reich’s very traditional mores would frown further upon John publicly taking a mistress and bringing her into his home and living with her openly. It would not matter that his intentions had been honorable to start with, or that she had been in danger. The perception of wrongdoing alone would be enough to damn her, and him as well, in the Führer’s eyes.

Hence, he found himself in a very dicey situation.

He could not leave Victoria on her own—tonight proved that much. Even without the attempted abduction, as ignorant as she was of the ways of the Reich and it’s enemies, it would only be a matter of time before she was victimized in some way. And he—for many, many reasons—could not allow that. Even if his personal feelings for her were less than they were, the fact that she was Victoria of England necessitated her being kept safe until she could return back to her place in history.

And therein was the problem. She couldn’t stay with him. She couldn’t stay anywhere else.

The greatest of all mercies was that Himmler’s poison would be the slowest to take effect. He was still in the hospital in Berlin, recovering from the injuries he sustained at _Jahr Null_ , and was like to stay there, incapacitated, for some time. It would be awhile, therefore, before the inevitable reports reached his ears, and even longer before he would be healthy enough to act. This mercy bought him some time to work on a more permanent solution.

One sure way to keep her safe would be to arrest her. Put her in custody. It would solve all problems. It would put her out of the reach of the Resistance, but more importantly, would put them both above suspicion of having an illicit relationship. Once the Resistance would hear of it, she would no longer be a target, as they would assume she was nothing to him. He could go on about his existence without worry from either quarter. Victoria would be safe—and he could see to it, well-cared for—until she found a way to travel home again. Nice. Simple. Clean. The perfect solution.

But of course, that was completely out of the question. There was no way he could do that to her. It would kill him.

Another solution was the potential of him finding a high security hiding place. One he could post men to guard. But such a solution was also impractical. No matter how comfortably he fitted it, a cage was still a cage. And Victoria had grown up in a cage. She would never submit to it, and he could not blame her. To say nothing of the fact that the farther away from him she physically was, the less safe she was, nor to the fact he no longer trusted anyone else with her security. He had posted men to guard her tonight. And they were less than useless.

Besides. He’d never be able to sleep again, were she out there, somewhere. Never draw another free breath without her within his line of vision, especially at night. And at least in his fishbowl of a penthouse, he knew she would be safe from the Resistance.

For a time.

Again and again, he came back around to the same conclusion. Victoria _had_ to go home. And he would have to find a way to send her there. And soon. 

No matter how much it killed him to let her go.

* * *

Victoria could not tear her thoughts away from the man seated next to her. If it had not been for him tonight, where would she be now? She shuddered to think. 

How very much she owed this man. Perhaps her very life. If not for him, how frightened, how out of place and how very alone she would be in this future world! There was much here that she did not understand. And as she had learned tonight, what she did not understand could be very dangerous indeed.

But the steady, reassuring touch of his fingers to hers quelled her fears. So much so that she put aside her doubts, and thought only about the immediate future. What would his apartment be like? What would it be like tonight to sleep under his roof? Oh, and he would be there as well. The thought filled her with relief, and at the same time, made her pulse quicken as she remembered the passion of his kiss, the warm, solid feeling of his arms around hers, his strong body pressed close. 

Despite herself, she could not but look forward to the prospect with anticipation.

At length the car pulled up at the curb of another great building. Skyscrapers, they were called, these large human anthills made of stone and metal and glass.

“Is this it?” She asked him, turning to face him now.

“Yes. Remember, we cannot talk freely until we are in the apartment and Bridget is gone.”

“Is she still there?”

“Oh I’m sure she is. Let me do all the talking, okay? And don’t worry about a thing.” He smiled at her. The Lieutenant had left the car and was coming to open the door for them. John flashed her a quick smile, then took her hand in his and planted a quick kiss on her knuckles, dropping her hand as the door opened.

John stepped out with thanks, and handed her out of the car himself. Through the lobby they walked, past another security checkpoint. John introducing her to the soldier at the front desk using the same cover story they had devised, adding that she would be staying with him until she could find her own apartment, and briefly relaying the events of the evening. The soldier, a captain, was shocked and sympathetic, offering his assistance with whatever she might need. John instructed him to double the usual security around the building, and not to allow any visitors or deliveries to his apartment that he himself did not indicate were expected. The captain snapped a salute, and John, with a hand lightly on the small of her back, steered her towards an elevator that was set apart from the other two.

“This is the only one that goes to the penthouse. That's my apartment,” he explained as they climbed in. Once inside, he produced a key from his pocket that fit a small lock over the elevator buttons, and they were moving. The elevator went all the way to the top of the building, and lighted in a hallway that was all polished wood, marble, and glass, with a series of doors opening to both sides.

He ushered her into the hallway with a smile.

“Here we are. Welcome home, Victoria.”


	11. The Penthouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victoria settles in to John's apartment and they finally have some dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “’Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?’  
> ‘That depends a good deal on where you want to get to,’ said the Cat.  
> ‘I don’t much care where—’ said Alice.  
> ’Then it doesn’t matter which way you go,’ said the Cat.  
> ‘—so long as I get somewhere,’ Alice added as an explanation.  
> ‘Oh, you’re sure to do that,’ said the Cat, ‘if you only walk long enough.’” 
> 
> —Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

**Chapter 11—The Penthouse**

"Here we are," John said, gesturing her inside. "Welcome home, Victoria."

She stepped past him with a somewhat shy smile.

"Thank you," she said.

"Reichsmarschall! You're h--" Bridget came around the corner and abruptly stopped in her tracks. "Oh."

John quickly made the introductions, watching his maid's reactions very carefully, making sure he explained it all fully--her background story, their family connection, and Victoria's near-abduction. It was crucially important Bridget, like the officer downstairs, be in full possession of the facts surrounding his decision to move her in. It would do precious little good, ultimately, he knew. But at least if and when she was called in for questioning, she would be able to offer up a decent reason, and all testimonies would be consistent across the board. He also hoped it would help Victoria for Bridget to be sympathetic. He knew she was loyal to his family. He did not want her to view Victoria as an outsider and a threat.

"Oh! Oh dear!" The girl exclaimed when he'd completed his tale, her suspicious expression melting into sympathy instantly. "Oh, how terrible!"

"The attempt was made at the women's dormitory, at her apartment. So she has nowhere safe to go. I therefore offered her the guest room, for the foreseeable future, until I can find the culprits and bring them to justice, and we can find her a new place to live that is safer."

"Oh! Oh of course! Oh my goodness! And only just moved in! What must you think of us here in the Reich! Here, let me just...let me take your bag, Miss, and if you will give me a moment, I'll have the guest room all made up and at your disposal."

"Thank you, Bridget." He smiled at the girl, and she went scurrying off to take care of the room.

"She likes you," Victoria whispered as soon as the door was closed.

"She's a hard worker. Extremely sincere, and loyal to our family."

"I'm sure she is. But that is not what I meant."

It took him a minute to realize what she meant.

"You're kidding. You must be."

"No I am not. I am entirely serious. Did you not see the way she looks at you?"

"But I'm a married man!"

She arched an eyebrow. "And?"

"Well she wouldn't...I'm sure she wouldn't..." he wrapped a hand behind his neck, as his face grew hot. "Would she?"

"Fantasy knows no boundaries," she said quietly.

He huffed a laugh. "I promise you nothing...there is nothing between us!"

"I know. But that doesn't mean she doesn't want there to be," she whispered. "I don't think she's at all pleased I'm here."

The door opened again, and they broke apart quickly, like naughty schoolchildren. John cleared his throat guiltily, aware of Victoria's giggle behind her hand.

"The guest room is prepared, Sir. I'll just set a second place for dinner?"

"Yes, thank you, Bridget. And that will be all. We'll take care of our own dishes tonight."

"Yes, Sir." This time, he detected the faint sound of disappointment in his maid's voice and cut a sharp look at Victoria as the girl returned to the dining area.

"Miss Buckingham, let me show you your room. Perhaps you'd like to freshen up before dinner."

"Thank you. That would be quite acceptable."

He walked her towards the room Bridget had just left, which opened off the central hallway near the elevator, outside the glass doors of the great room.

"The tips of your ears are pink," she whispered, giggling as she entered the room.

"How the hell...did I miss that?" He whispered, with a glance over his shoulder.

"You do not realize your own attractiveness," she returned. "You never have."

He caught her slip, but let it go, too chagrined with himself to correct her. He huffed a laugh.

"Oh!" Victoria said as she took in the soft blue of the room, with its white flowered wall paper, the various items of furniture...the big bed in the middle. "How exceedingly pretty it is! Oh! And my own water closet!"

He smiled to himself, watching her delight. It gave him an absurd sense of pride, being able to provide her with accommodations she approved of.

"I hope you will be comfortable here," he said, striving for normalcy, his hands shoved into his pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels a little.

"I shall be," she said in almost a whisper. "It is quite lovely. Much lovelier than the apartment." She ran a hand over the wallpaper. The wardrobe. The edge of the bed.

"Good! Good..." he nodded, clearing his throat. "Tomorrow I'll send some chaps around to clean out your apartment and bring the rest of your stuff."

"I had arranged to have some clothes made and sent to me at that address."

"I'll take care of it. Give me the names and the shops."

"Excuse me Sir," Bridget said from behind him. "I've laid another place for dinner, and everything's ready. I guess...that is all you need tonight, Sir?"

"Yes, that will be all, Bridget, thank you. Have a safe trip home."

"Thank you Sir."

He waited until the elevator doors closed on Bridget before he breathed a sigh of relief, and looked again to her.

She read his intent as clearly as if he'd spoken, and stepped into his arms with a sigh.

He sighed deeply too, folding her close, his cheek against her hair.

"At last," she whispered. "We are alone."

They stood for a moment, content. Then he released her. A charged moment passed between them as she stepped away. He wet his lips, cleared his throat.

"I should let you rest," he whispered, moving towards the door. "Let you take a minute to settle in. Then...join me for dinner?"

She smiled. "I would love to."

"Good. Take all the time you like. I'll be here."

He wanted to kiss her again. But he was afraid if he touched her again right now, neither of them would get to eat this evening at all, and he wanted to make sure Victoria had a substantial, home-cooked meal inside of her. She'd had a terrible day. What she needed was rest. Not to be ravished. He took another step back.

"Don't worry. I won't keep you waiting long."

He left her room, watching her close the door softly before going into his own across the hall. He shucked off his uniform coat and hat, and his uniform jacket as well. He would have liked to have taken off the damned uniform entirely, but it was somewhat more formal than the rest of his wardrobe, and he didn't want to tone himself down so much that she felt uncomfortable in her stylish evening dress. Really he should wear his jacket, but sometimes it was a bit too warm and stuffy. So this would have to do.

Afterward, he went to the elevator, inserted his key into the top of the button panel and locked it, deactivating the elevator for the night and locking the doors. Now even if someone could hot wire the elevator car to start it ascending, they'd have the devil of a time trying to get out again, which would give him plenty of notice if someone were attempting an invasion.

Then he made his way to the living room, taking up his file on Victoria and Lord Melbourne which he had left by his chair this morning, and removed it to the filing cabinet in his office. Not something he wanted in his office in GNR HQ, but not something he wanted her to find either. He stopped off in the kitchen to find some wine to go with their dinner, along with a few wine glasses, and sat down to have a smoke and wait for Victoria.

* * *

Victoria's first impression of John's apartment was that it looked just like his office. It was a beautiful interior, and certainly luxurious but...cold. She didn't know what she had been picturing exactly, but...something that spoke more of home. Something warmer. There was nothing at all warm about this place. It made her sad to think of him all alone here.

The guest room that was to be hers though was more comfortably appointed in a lovely shade of robin's egg blue, with a large size bed, a dresser with a mirror and a small stool, a nice-sized closet, and an extra wardrobe, as well as it's own water closet, complete with a shower/tub arrangement like her other apartment, only much more inviting.

The windows were again floor-to-ceiling and picturesque, but hung with long drapes in wispy white--one set that was heavy to block out the light and the other that was semi-sheer. This she closed immediately with the heavy drapes, feeling the need for privacy in this place. The walls were covered over in a decorative paper styled with large damask white roses on a soft blue background--a soothing contrast to the more Spartan decor of the main living areas.

She unpacked her tote bag, carefully hanging her blue dress and again, arranging her other purchases carefully on an entirely different vanity table, and making use of one of the small drawers for her other clothing. Her artwork she filed in a drawer beneath a bedside table, and Lord M's pocket-watch she set on top of it, running a finger over it's smooth surface again thoughtfully before setting it down.

She visited the bathroom and used its marvelous facilities, before making use of the full length looking glass inside her wardrobe to take in her appearance critically. She was a bit less polished for her misadventures, it had to be said. And her lipstick had faded shamefully. In fact, John's lips had ended up looking quite a bit redder as hers faded, until they met somewhere in the middle and matched. She giggled at the thought.

She again employed the powder, which she had decided in very short order that she loved. However she had lived thus far in her life without it before she could not account for. She must make sure to be carrying it in a reticule at all times, she thought, in case she should abruptly find herself at home again. Then she would at least have a little supply to carry her through until she weaned herself off of it again.

_Home._

She put the powder puff down again and gazed at herself. She must return home, she knew. She could not stay here forever. She could not stay with _him_ forever. And when she left, he would remain here. And she would never see him again. Never hold his hand. Never taste his kisses. Never see his dark eyes glitter at her in that way that made the butterflies flit about in her belly. They belonged to different worlds, did she and John Smith. Eventually, they would part ways again.

The thought made her desolate.

Well. But after all, he has a wife. And she herself was married as well. Both of them had children. Lives. Duties to uphold. They simply could not have each other. Not forever anyway. And when she returned, this future world would be to her like a dream.

She knew it must be. But suddenly, she wished her home to stay far away.

Hastily she finished her toilet and went in search of John Smith.

She found him in the living area, standing against one of the tall glass walls that looked unblinkingly down over the city. He'd removed his jacket, and she saw now he wore braces beneath--two dark lines against the perfect white of his shirt, merging into one down his back, setting off his athletic form to great advantage. A waft of thin smoke rose over his head.

How she would have liked to wrap her arms around his waist, to lay her cheek against his shoulder!

"Am I disturbing you?"

He turned to see her, his hazel green eyes lighting with pleasure as he took her in.

"Not at all," he said with a smile, smashing the white stick in his hand into a dish and extinguishing the smoke. "I was just waiting for you."

"Whatever is that?"

"This? Oh--a cigarette. A bad habit, I admit. I hope the smoke does not bother you?"

"No indeed. I was merely curious. What is in it?"

"Tobacco. It's the modern version of a cigar, I suppose, or a pipe. Though not as fragrant." He smiled at her. "You hungry yet?"

"Starved." She said with a smile.

"Then may I interest you in dinner, Ma'am?"

She swallowed hard, her eyes flying to his. "Yes of course," she whispered, and took his arm.

* * *

John walked her into the dining room and seated her. Bridget had placed their plates at opposite ends of the long, family-sized table, but he had taken the liberty to move her--and their feast--closer to himself. It might not be formal, he thought, as he sat at the head, and she just to his left, but it was a damned sight better than shouting down the table at her. He shook his head a little in amusement, wondering if Victoria had been right about Bridget having a crush on him. The way she'd set the table certainly had put distance between himself and his guest. Not that he'd ever given the girl any encouragement. But then, perhaps she hadn't really needed any. He shook his head, forgetting his maid, and smiling at the beautiful woman beside him.

"I don't think I ever got to tell you how lovely you look," he said. "I like what you've done to your hair. It's very pretty."

"Thank you," she said, smiling. "I do feel much better for my shopping trip today. Did I ever thank you properly for that?"

"Yes," he smiled. "Not that you needed to. It was my pleasure, I told you. I figured you'd need some stuff."

"You were correct."

"Well, I'm only just glad to be of assistance," John said as he served her a slice of Bridget's excellent meatloaf, and dabbed a spoonful of mashed potatoes on her plate, alongside a scoop of green peas before serving himself. "There you go, Your Majesty. Your first true dinner in the Reich. I'm sorry it's a bit more homespun than I intended. But Bridget is an excellent cook. And at least here, we have privacy, which we would not have had in a restaurant. And plenty of seconds, too. Please eat up. I don't want you to go hungry."

"I assure you, I will not," she said. "Thank you. It looks and smells delicious."

"And of course--some wine," he said with a smile as he poured her a glass. "A nice, red, Bordeaux wine always goes well with it, I find." He poured some into his own glass. "Shall we have a toast?"

"Of course!" She raised her glass. "What shall we drink to?"

"To your health, Your Majesty," he said, offering her his glass.

"And yours," she returned, and clinked her glass against his.

They both drank.

"Mmm!" She said in appreciation. "Oh yes, that is delicious!"

"I'm glad you approve." He said, still smiling, ridiculously happy to be hosting her under his roof. Feeding her. Taking care of her. It was a simple thing, but it gave him more pleasure than he could have imagined.

"My turn," she said raising her glass again. "To...dear friends," she said in a hushed whisper.

"To dear friends," he said, and clinked his glass to hers, holding her eyes with his as they drank. "Now, down to business!" he said, settling his napkin in his lap and raising his fork, making her giggle at his enthusiasm.

"Oh, goodness! This is heavenly!" She said.

"Good! I'm glad you find it to your liking," he said. "As I said, I had planned for us to go have dinner at a nice restaurant. I'm sorry that didn't work out."

"I am sorry to have missed the novelty, as I have never before dined in a future restaurant before. But this is truly exceptional. And after today, I think I prefer it."

"You've never been to a restaurant before?" he asked. "I never thought about that."

"It would be difficult to do so," she said with a sigh. "It's quite amusing living in the future, not being a queen. In some ways it's a relief--a holiday away from all the pressure. I quite enjoyed being an ordinary future woman today, apart from my assailants and that dreadful immigration process."

"I'm sorry about both," he said sincerely. "And I promise to take you out to a restaurant while you're here so you can experience that too."

"I shall look forward to it," she smiled. "But I'm perfectly content to be here with you tonight. Dinner is delicious, and the privacy is a relief."

"That is one of the greatest benefits of you being here. As I said, there's no surveillance on my apartment. We are truly alone." He couldn't prevent himself seeking her eyes as he said it.

She returned his glance with an answering smile.

"Was my apartment truly not private?"

"No," he said, tucking into his mashed potatoes. "Your apartment is in a building that is heavily monitored. Although I had it all switched off when I was there, so our conversation was in essence, private." He took up the spoon out of the peas and topped his potatoes with them, adding a pat of butter to both. "But don't worry. I have possession of all the remaining footage."

"What 'footage'?" She said, taking a forkful of peas.

"I'll show it to you later, if you like." He smiled at her, hoping she'd forget to ask him. He didn't know how she would react to knowing how much he'd seen this morning, but he was determined to be open with her. He didn't want to give her any reason to mistrust him. There was already plenty he could not be open about. Therefore it was even more important to share with her all he could.

"But as I said, here, there are no cameras. No listening devices. We are officially on our own."

"It certainly doesn't seem like it," she remarked, looking out at the floor-to-ceiling glass panels as they opened on the panoramic view of New York. "What irony to be alone, but for all the world to see your every move."

He sighed. Yes, it was true, and he agreed. The whole family had hated it here, under the ever-watchful eye of the Reich. But of course that had been Himmler's whole point. And it had perhaps contributed to the dissolution of his marriage.

He swallowed his bite of Bridget's excellent meatloaf and sighed, watching Victoria take the tiniest of bites of her mashed potatoes, and declare it also to be delicious. He'd lost Helen. Maybe forever. But here, out of the ether, had appeared another woman who could ease his pain. Who made him feel alive and whole again, just by being in her presence. A beautiful woman, who melted into his arms...melted into his kiss...

She would have to go home.

The thought came to him, unbidden and unwelcome, threatening to douse the pleasure of the moment. There was so little time. So little time before he'd have to let her go.

Not that he had the faintest idea how to accomplish such a thing. _Die Nebenwelt_ in the Poconos had only recently been deemed as successful in opening a gateway into one of the other worlds. But what if Victoria had come from a different place? What if she was from his own world? How the hell was he to get her back again? _Die Nebenwelt_ was a portal to another, single world. Not another time in his own.

"How long do you wish for me to stay here, John?" She asked, as if divining his thoughts.

He sighed. Took a drink of his wine. All of that, to go along with the minor issue that he didn't want to send her back. At all.

"You're safe here, Victoria. What happened tonight never should have happened, but the fact that it did means that you have been identified as a target of opportunity. If your attackers are who I think they are, they will be back, and they will try again. This is the safest place in the city for you. I would feel much better if you would consent to stay with me...indefinitely. Until I can find you a more secure place or we figure out a way to get you home again."

"What if--what if I cannot find a way home again?" She said, toying now with her peas, pushing them around her plate.

He looked at her a long moment.

 _Then I will find a way for you to stay with me,_ he thought at her. _Forever._

"Oh, I think you will find your way back," he said, affecting nonchalance. "I don't know when, any more than you do. But...history needs you, Victoria. Your country needs you. And...your husband needs you. Your children." _And so do I,_ he did not say.

She dropped her head. "I do not think he does anymore," she said with a sigh. "I do not think he has needed me since Bertie was born. His dynasty is assured now, whatever happens to me."

"Well, be that as it may, you are needed. Your country needs _you_ , not Albert, at the helm. And therefore I believe you will find your way back. But while you visit, I think it's best if you stay here, at least for the time being. Let me do some investigating. Find out who it was who tried to abduct you, and bring the criminals to justice. Then if you wish it, we can find you another place to stay. But until that happens, I need to make sure that you are absolutely safe, Your Majesty. I believe I have a duty to return you to your home in one piece, and I mean to do that."

"You wish me to stay here? Entirely? As in...I cannot go out?"

"I think it is best if you do not. Not until I've had a chance to investigate and arrest those responsible for the attack on you tonight."

She frowned a little at this.

"After tonight I confess I have a hard time trusting you to others," he continued. "So I would prefer to be your escort when you venture forth. So I can guarantee your safety myself."

"That is generous of you. But what on earth am I to do with myself here all day alone, for heaven's sake?"

He chuckled. "Anything you like. Bridget can teach you to cook maybe, or...you can play your new piano, when it arrives tomorrow."

"You've bought me a piano as well?"

"Well. It was to be a surprise. It's due to arrive at your dormitory tomorrow so I need to make a few calls. Have it sent here instead. But yes. Can't have you being a piano teacher after all, without an instrument of your own to practice on."

"I suppose that is true." She bit her lip. "You are most generous, John. Far too generous. I thank you."

"What's wrong?" He asked, instantly divining her change of mood.

"Nothing. I don't know. It seems no matter where I go, I am useless. At home I am Queen, and yet still I spend my days rattling around the palace. Albert has no use for me when he is there, and like as not goes away to give himself a break from me. But here...here I am even more so. Here I am deprived of purpose entirely and am even more in the way. And far too troublesome to you I think."

"It is not my intent for you to feel that way. I certainly don't feel that way about you."

"I know, but what good am I?"

He smiled at her. "Well. I've always wanted to learn to play piano."

She sighed, and he was rewarded with a small smile. "It would be my pleasure to teach you."

"Good. Then that's settled. No more feeling bad. You have a purpose. And I enjoy your company too."

* * *

The light in his eyes was unmistakable. And this time, it was Victoria's turn to blush.

"I enjoy yours too, John." She returned.

"Good," he said simply.

They returned to eating more or less in silence for a few moments, but it was a comfortable silence. The food was delicious, if a little heavy. But she didn't mind. She'd not eaten at all since breakfast, and all things considered, this was her second true meal since landing in the future. So she supposed she could be forgiven if she polished off her plate.

She was making steady progress to that end when John spoke again.

"I feel...responsible in a way for what happened today," he surprised her by saying.

"How on earth could you be responsible?"

"I let you go shopping. In my car. On my account. With my security detail."

"So?"

"So it makes my attention to you rather pronounced, don't you think?" He sighed, his hazel eyes soft with apology.

"I suppose it does."

"It's like I explained to you before. They think you're my mistress. And that's problematic because Helen is gone, but we're still married, officially. Whether there is anything left of our marriage to salvage or not...I don't know. For a beautiful woman such as yourself to suddenly appear in the trendiest salons of New York in the Reichsmarschall's car, using his account to shop, after he'd sponsored you to become a citizen of the Reich..." he shook his head. "I did what had to be done for your safety and well-being. But for what happened tonight, and for what they are now saying about us--I am sorry."

He thought she was beautiful? It was an absurd detail to select out of his speech to focus on, but focus on it she did, nonetheless. She felt a rush of pleasure at the thought. So much so that it took a moment for her to process the rest of what he'd said.

They all thought her his mistress. Yes, they had discussed this earlier today.

"Do not be," she said with a smile. "You are not to blame. You have done nothing but been too kind to me."

"Still. If it troubles you that we are here alone at night together, I can rent a hotel for the next few days. It would take suspicion off of us, as well."

"No. I will not put you out of your home," she said adamantly, reaching for her wine glass. She finished the last of her glass and set it down, where John was already poised to refill it. She took it with thanks and took another drink. "I do not like the rumors," she said, putting her glass down on the table with a decisive clink. "I do not wish to bring scandal upon either of us. But above all other considerations, I do not wish you to go."

"Well. I thank you for that." He smiled. "You're perfectly safe here, you know that right? Whether I'm here or not, they cannot get to you here."

"I know," she said, and smiled into his eyes. "But I...I feel... _safer_...when you're near, John."

It was a truth she did not want to acknowledge. Certainly not to tell him about. But the thought of being left on her own again after what had just nearly happened tonight did terrify her. For one thing, she simply was not used to being entirely alone.

Even at home in Buckingham Palace she was never alone. The palace was practically it's own village--populated with family, and courtiers, visiting dignitaries, an army of servants, to say nothing of the palace guard, as well as people coming and going all the time. And whenever she left, she never went anywhere unaccompanied. Though she had her own apartments she was never more than a bell or a call away from anyone. She had been far more alone in the last day that she'd been here than ever before in her life. And she supposed that those ruffians--that their attempt to abduct her person--had done far more damage to her sense of well-being than she entirely understood.

But all of that fear and anxiety disappeared when she was with John.

She _did_ feel safe with him. Far, far safer than she did on her own in this cold apartment, with its wide open windows and cold decor. Or even in her small rooms in the dormitory. In this strange future world full of electric lights, cars, and other wonders so completely alien to her, nothing at all was familiar. Except him. He had kept her safe tonight. And she knew he would go on keeping her safe. He was her anchor--her port in this storm. And she wanted and needed his presence far more than she suspected she even realized.

For that and so many other reasons, Victoria did not even want to let him out of her sight. But that sentiment, of course, was ridiculous. The poor man would have to leave her at some point to go about his business and his life. She simply must not allow herself to panic. To give way to her fears. To become more burdensome to him than she was already.

But if he was near...she could face anything. 

He was regarding her quietly, his dark eyes bottomless as he held her gaze. "Then you shall have me near," he whispered.

It was an expression she'd seen Lord M wear countless times. She knew it now for what it was.

_Desire._

She did not look away, but held his eyes boldly. For a time, neither moved. Time itself seemed to hold its breath.

He gave her a little smile, and the spell was broken.

"Tomorrow is Friday," he said returning his attention to his plate, "I'll have to go in tomorrow, but then I'll have the weekend off. Maybe you and I can go on a little excursion. Get out of the city. Get away from it all and just...enjoy ourselves a little. The weather is supposed to be fine--if you'd like that?"

"I would. Very much."

"Good," he said, his smile spreading. "Then that's what we will do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some liberty taken with the architecture of John's apartment here. I don't know where they would have had a guest room, but I've used my artistic license and created one. :)


	12. At Last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Victoria share an intimate evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “'It'll be no use their putting their heads down and saying 'Come up again, dear!'  
> I shall only look up and say 'Who am I then? Tell me that first, and then,  
> if I like being that person, I'll come up: if not, I'll stay down here  
> till I'm somebody else--but, oh dear!' cried Alice, with a sudden burst  
> of tears, 'I do wish they WOULD put their heads down! I am so VERY tired  
> of being all alone here!'”  
> ― Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

**Chapter 12—At Last**

John took another bite, trying to tear his gaze from Victoria. She really looked extraordinarily beautiful tonight. He liked her hair this way, and her makeup and nails were pretty and chic. He loved her dress, with its cute white jacket, and the dainty way she sat forward to nibble at her food.

And what's more, she seemed much more at ease. Good. Yes, very good.

"I have a house on the lake not far north of here," he continued. "Its way out in the Catskills—not a soul for miles. I thought we might spend the weekend. There are hiking trails, and waterfalls, and the fishing is exceptional."

"Sounds quite charming!"

"Excellent. We'll leave tomorrow night, if that's not too soon for you."

"I look forward to it immensely."

"So do I," he said softly. And boy, did he ever. He'd have to dispatch a security detail around the perimeter, there was no getting around that. But Victoria never needed to see them, or realize they were there unless there were an incident, in which case she'd be glad he'd taken the precaution.

For the next several moments, John lost himself in contemplation of what the weekend might bring. He would teach her to fish maybe, or go for a swim. Have a cookout on the back patio one night where he'd grill some of their catch, or maybe some burgers. Take her exploring--show her his American countryside.

And have her all to himself.

She glanced up and met his eyes with an almost coy expression, as if she had divined something of what he was thinking, and it pleased her. He took a long drink of his wine, holding her eyes over the rim of his glass.

"Whatever do you call this dish again?"

"Meatloaf."

"It's quite tasty."

"Is it not one you are familiar with?" He gave her a self-deprecating smile. "It's probably too plebeian for you. I can't imagine Queen Victoria sitting down to a meatloaf supper at the palace. You would have roasted partridge or something."

"I am fond of simple dishes," she said. "Roasted pheasant is indeed enjoyable, but then so is this. Is it German or American?"

"American. I grew up eating this." He took another enthusiastic bite.

"You always did have a hearty appetite. I am gratified to see some things never change."

She said it without another thought, and he debated a moment whether or not he should correct her.

"You must tell me all about him—your Lord M." He said finally, forking another bite into his mouth.

Her eyes grew misty. "I would not know where to begin. How do you tell someone about a person who was your entire world?"

His heart flipped in his chest with an emotion he couldn't even identify. Was it pain or pleasure? Was he flattered or heartsick? Could he be both?

"What did you like about him?"

"Everything," she said, lips forming a smile of such sweetness his heart ached. "There was nothing not to like. But trying to describe him, I find, is so dreadfully hard."

"He was clearly extremely handsome," he couldn't resist saying as he drained his wineglass, eyes on hers almost playfully.

"Exceedingly so," she replied straight into his eyes, not missing the humor there. "The handsomest man I have ever seen."

His eyebrows rose. Well then. If that didn't bolster a man's ego, nothing ever would. John was no more immune to flattery than the next man. Especially not from a woman as beautiful as Victoria.

"Even though he was so much older than yourself?" He leaned back from the table, smiling.

She took a breath and considered. "His age was not entirely the whole of why I found him so attractive, but that was a generous part of it."

"You _liked_ the fact he was an older man?"

"Yes," she said with a sigh. "I appreciated his wisdom and his wit as much as his handsome face and fine figure."

 _Had to love that_ , he thought, pouring another glass of wine.

"Yet your husband is not so much older."

"My husband and I are the same age," she said, and John fancied some of the lights went out of her face at the mention of him. "I have often wondered if that is not part of the problem between us." She sighed. "Lord M always knew just what to say. Just what to do in any situation. He knew _me_ ," she said softly. "Astonishingly well indeed. Mostly because he'd troubled himself to really acquaint himself with me where...truly no one else ever has. He always had the right thing to say to me. If I was unhappy, he knew how to make me smile. If I was angry, he calmed me. If I was in distress, he alone could dispel my fears. He soothed me like no other. Pleased me like no other. He knew me inside and out."

John felt a frisson of heat run up and down his spine, watching the glazed expression of her eyes, the breathless tone of her words. Clearly, the two had been very close friends, and yet there was something in her words so erotic, so sexual, that he was stirred to full arousal. Definitely more than friends.

"You remind me so much of him sometimes," she whispered.

 _Did he ever kiss you beneath a parliament of rooks?_ He wanted to ask her. _Or in a darkened carriage?_

_Or am I losing my mind?_

"I am honored to remind you of him," he said instead. The Melbourne of his visions was a good, kind man who adored her. And a noble one—far nobler than himself.

"You do," she said, her eyes holding his. "You remind me of him exceedingly."

He downed his glass again and set it on the table with a clink. "Did he like music?" He asked on sudden impulse.

"Music? Of course! So long as it was Mozart," she smiled fondly.

"Did he...dance at all?"

"Occasionally," she said with a fond smile. "When I would hold a ball, he would always stand up with me for one turn, at least. For a waltz."

"Well, in that grand tradition, might I interest you in a little after dinner dancing?"

"Certainly, but...here? How?"

"Come with me."

John led her to the family room, where he opened a sideboard and took out his phonograph. Behind this in the same cabinet, buried deep inside his secret collection of prewar hits, was the record he was looking for.

"Whatever is that?" She asked, eyes round with curiosity.

"This is a phonograph record," he explained, holding up the large, black, vinyl disk. "It plays music."

"Does it indeed!"

"Indeed," he said, handing her the dust jacket as he turned on the player, which set the disk to spinning. Then he found the track he was looking for and set the needle down on the disk.

The quick, energetic tones of Glenn Miller's "In the Mood" erupted into the room and Victoria's face lit up in delight.

"Why, its an entire band!" She said, peering at his record player, watching the dark disk spin as the needle traced its way across. "How perfectly marvelous!"

"May I have the pleasure of this dance?"

"I'm afraid I don't know the steps."

"It's easy. It's called a 'swing'. Here, give me your hands."

* * *

John took her hands in his and pulled her close but off to one side, then sent her backwards. Then repeated the move on the other side. He showed her the basic step, which was quick and light, and soon, he was slinging her all over the room to the energetic music.

She found he was right--the step was easy enough, and she loved his strong lead and his seemingly endless improvisation. Out and away from him he spun her, holding her by one hand before reeling her back in, quite up against himself, and the out she went again.

They danced in a giddy circle, the music positively sinking into her soul, animating her feet and making her laugh with joy. They linked hands, held them above their heads as he sent her flying under their arms, spinning her around and bringing her back again, and then beneath them again on his other side, and somehow he twirled her around until she found herself back in his arms again.

Over and over, he sent her flying out to dance on her own, spinning her like a top, in a dizzying variety that was sheer delight. She didn't always get the steps right, but found that didn't really matter, the dance was fun anyway. The music was simply the liveliest, happiest sound she'd ever heard. Truly it was joyful, and when the last high-pitched trumpet wail died down, she found herself wrapped up tight in his arms as they both laughed.

"I've never danced the like!" She said somewhat breathless.

"Did you like it?"

"I adore it!"

The next song, he told her was called "Tuxedo Junction," and it was a swing as well, but a bit slower, so she had a chance to practice the steps a bit more. She stepped on his feet less and had just as much fun.

"I've never heard music like this before!"

"It's a fairly modern sound, based in something called Jazz, which was popular in America before the war."

"And now?"

Much of the light went out of his face. "Not now. This...particular kind of music does not appeal to the Germans, I'm afraid. It's now a part of old America. A relic of who we once were before the Reich."

"Oh," she said, feeling her own spirits deflate. What joy she had seen on his face for the last few minutes, and how it had all left him now. Her heart went out to him even more. How sad to have hold of so much unfettered happiness as a country, and have it pulled from one's grasp. "You miss it. The old way. The old music."

"I do," he gave her a small smile. "But...this record is our little secret. No one must know I have this. It would be severely frowned upon by my superiors."

"I shan't tell a soul," she smiled at him. "Must you turn it off now?"

"No," he said, smiling again, some of the light coming back into his eyes. "Would you like another dance?"

"I would love one."

He set the machine again and this time, the music was far slower, and with a wistful tone that appealed to her immediately.

"This is not exactly a waltz, but..." He held out his arms for her.

She stepped into them. "What is this song called?"

"Stormy Weather," he whispered, his smile sadder than before. Then softly, he began to sing to her:

> _"Don't know why_
> 
> _There's no sun up in the sky,_
> 
> _Storm-y wea-ther,_
> 
> _Since my man and I ain't_
> 
> _To-ge-ther._
> 
> _Keeps rainin' all the time..."_

Her eyes closed, and she lost herself in his voice, in the melancholy lyric:

> _"Life is bare,_
> 
> _Gloom and misery everywhere,_
> 
> _Storm-y wea-ther,_
> 
> _And I just can't get my poor self_
> 
> _To-ge-ther,_
> 
> _Oh I'm weary all of the time_
> 
> _The time, so weary all of the time..."_

She found herself melting against his body, swaying softly, his cheek against her hair, his arms circling around her, drawing her closer, humming the tune as they moved together.

* * *

John left off singing, humming a little against her hair, drawing her closer and closer as his eyes closed, and he gave himself over to the moment...

_..."May I have the honor?"_

_She turned to him with undisguised eagerness, and set down the champagne glass she had just picked up from the tray, coming to him as if entranced, stumbling a little, already the drink affecting her._

_His hands landed on her body, and the contact sent a jolt of energy up his arm. The ivory satin of her dress beneath his hand, her petite form, so fine and delicate. Such strength of will and character in such an exquisitely small woman...he was stirred. His heart already had been, and watching the Russian Grand Duke take liberties with her had almost been enough provocation for Melbourne to forget himself entirely and punch the blackguard in the face. Fortunately he'd retained enough of his good sense to deal appropriately with the situation._

_He told himself he was merely stepping in to help his young Queen avoid embarrassment in the wake of the Grand Duke's departure. Only to finish out the dance, and ease her transition to another partner. But of course, it was so much more than that._

_"You dance so well," she said to him, her eyes turning serious as she gazed into his. "I wish I could dance with you every night."_

_His heart had caught in his throat, and he could no longer deny the truth to himself. Here on this night of all nights, especially. And fervently, silently, his heart answered her._

_I wish you could too...._

…John realized belatedly that at some point their dancing position had melted away entirely. Her arms were around his neck and his were around her waist, and their bodies touching all the way down as the steps too faded away, and they stood swaying in the music, lost in the moment. Lost in each other. "Stormy Weather" faded into "At Last," another gem made for slow dancing. This time, he did not have to provide the words:

> _"At last my love has come along._
> 
> _My lonely days are over and life is like a song.  
> _
> 
> _At last the skies above are blue_
> 
> _My heart was wrapped in clover the night I looked at you..."_

There was a humming between them like John had never felt before. He felt her on an instinctive level, deep, so deep inside of him...as if she sensed him calling out to her, and she was there already, answering...

_..."I'm afraid you are tired, Ma'am. Perhaps you should retire."_

_"I don't want to retire! I want to dance with you!"_

_And his young queen reached out, pulled him bodily to her, pressing herself against him eagerly, her pretty lips inches from his, yearning etched in her every feature._

_His breath came sharply, and they stood a moment, locked in each other's eyes._

_It was there, in the air between them. Palpable. Irrefutable. Intoxicating._

_Desire._

_An innocent desire on her part. She reached for him, not understanding, but seeking to understand. Curiosity, and the call of something she did not quite grasp propelled the action._

_But he understood it for what it was. And worse yet, returned it. Knowing fully, the burn of passion flaring inside of himself, he gazed at her, and his focus narrowed to the enticing curve of her lips, the rise and fall of her perfect white breasts against her gown, the light pressure of her body against himself, and her bottomless eyes._

_How long had it been since a woman had looked at him this way? One that he wanted so very badly? Had he ever experienced desire before? Had he ever wanted anyone as much as he wanted the woman before him?_

_All his latent passions came rushing back. Threatening to overwhelm him. He wanted to reach for her. To take what was offered. To lose himself in the beauty of her sweet kiss..._

_But she was not an ordinary woman, she was his Queen. And beyond a mere doorway was a ballroom full of dignitaries, courtiers and assorted royalty, any one of which might venture out here at a moment's notice and find the newly crowned Queen in a passionate and compromising embrace with her Prime Minister._

_"Not...tonight...Ma'am." He forced the words through his lips, though the denial hurt more than his own heart. He watched as the lights faded from her eyes, replaced by an embarrassment he would do anything to soothe. But there was nothing more to say. He stood with as much dignity as he could muster, his posture a firm denial of what they both wanted._

_How many times since that moment had he wished it back again? Had he wished it had ended differently? If only she realized, he thought, as he watched her flee from him, how much her feelings were returned, returned tenfold..._

…John leaned in, drawn to her, as always he had been. A moth to her flame...no longer able to deny himself what he so desperately wanted. Closed his eyes as the lyrics drifted over them, caressing, soft and sweet as a summer breeze:

> _"...I found a dream that I could speak to_
> 
> _A dream that I can call my own_
> 
> _I found a thrill to press my cheek to_
> 
> _A thrill I've never known._
> 
> _You smiled, and then the spell was cast_
> 
> _And here we are in Heaven_
> 
> _For you are mine at last..."_

Hardly thinking, barely breathing, he leaned into her, and let his lips touch hers.

* * *

Victoria understood John Smith was not Lord M. But oh, how he put her in mind of him! How much he looked like him! And sometimes...sometimes she could swear John did not only look like her beloved.

Somewhere, somehow, in a way she could not explain--

He _was_ Lord M.

Even his dancing. His strong lead, the way he made her feel so safe and cared for. His gentle touch upon her body, the way he looked at her, as if she were the only woman in the world.

They should have been lovers, long ago. If she had understood then what she did now, she would have pressed him herself until he relented. And oh, how bitter the pill of regret she had been choking on! To lose her other half, a man she loved more than life itself, never having shared fully their love. What bliss it would be to find him again, to have another chance at loving each other...

She stood, swaying in his arms, drowning in the deep green of his eyes, until she found him moving closer. Oh, yes...her lips hungered for his. Craved him. Needed...

_Oh please...please..._

His lips landed on hers, and she sighed deep into his kiss. A shudder chased through him and his arms tightened on her, drew her in, pressing her hard against him, one hand against her upper back, the other trailing down her body.

She melted against him, her hands in his short hair as he devoured her with his kiss.

"Victoria..." he breathed against her cheek. "My Victoria..."

"Yes," she said, breathless. "Oh yes I am. You know I am."

He kissed her again, ravenous.

Oh yes! It was there in his kiss. She could taste...oh, she could taste him! There was no mistaking him.

"Lord M!" she broke away, eyes wide, her hands on his face. "Oh it _is_ you. I _knew_ it was you!"

* * *

John gazed at her, breathless, so stirred by the sweetness of her he could hardly think straight. It took him a moment to process what she had just said.

He blinked, sighed. Touched his forehead to hers.

"I would that I were," he whispered against her. "But I am not."

He hated the to see the light draining from her eyes, the color rising in her cheeks.

"Forgive me," she stuttered, backing out of his arms.

"No!" he pulled her in tighter with sudden urgency, choking on the desperation rising in him, as if he let her go now she would be lost to him forever. "No," he repeated more softly, one hand cupping her cheek. "Please. Don't go."

She gazed at him more sharply again, confusion in her eyes.

"I realize this is sudden. This...whatever this is between us...it defies all logic. All reason. I can't explain it," he said, the words falling from him in a tumble he couldn't stop. "The connection between us. This...conviction...that I've known you forever," he swallowed hard. "Ever since we've met, I've been...drawn to you. Victoria I...know this is crazy for us both, and you are as confused about this as I am. I understand that I'm a disappointment to you. You look at me and you see...him. Lord Melbourne. You want me to be him, and I look at you and I wish--" he broke off, hardly able to form the words. "I wish I was him. I wish I was that great man that you love, and not just a poor substitute."

He dropped his eyes from her, released his hold and stepped back.

A soft, gloved hand reached out for him, cradling his face. He moved toward it instinctively. Nestled into it and raised his eyes to hers.

"You are never a poor substitute, John Smith." She said, her eyes glassy, and she drew him down to her and kissed him.

And the world stopped its spinning.

She stepped into him again, drawing closer to him. His arms came around her lightly. But she sighed against him, her body melting into his, emboldening him until again he drew her into him in a strong embrace.

It was himself that she was kissing now. And he shuddered in her arms, needing, wanting her to kiss him for himself more than he dared admit, and not just because he looked like the man she had loved and who had been lost to her. The depth of his response to her frightened him.

How long they stood there kissing, he did not know. The record had long since completed and turned itself off. He just recognized it would never be long enough. Her kiss soothed him, smoothed some jagged, broken place inside of himself that he'd never known existed. Oh, and as she kissed him, he never wanted her to stop.

_..."You are entangled, one to the other...She sat alone in her room and reached out through all the universe for her other half. And found you...."_

Was that what he tasted in her kiss? Completion? Completion in a way he'd never experienced before...

He deepened the kiss still further with a cry, yielding himself to her. No, he was not her dashing Lord M. But anything and everything that was in his power to give, was hers. Heart, soul, and body…whatever she wanted from him, she had only to reach for it…

. _.."What a shame for her to find you so altered from the good man that she remembers"..._

He broke the kiss abruptly, breathing hard.

She sighed heavily, leaning in to him, laying her cheek against his heart, nuzzling, her hands toying with his suspenders, smiling up at him with eyes that shone with admiration and trust.

“What is it?” She whispered, sliding her hands beneath them all the way to his shoulders before letting them snap against his body as her hands traveled up to his neck, toying with his hair on the back of his collar. “John?”

Her soft body melted into him, and he stifled a groan. Leaning his forehead against hers, his hands on her waist, he took several fortifying breaths.

What would happen when she finally discovered the truth? About the things he'd done and been a party to? The thought ripped through his heart, left him breathless with pain, with stone-cold fear. She must never find out. He had to protect her from that at all costs. Not only from the Reich and the Resistance but himself as well. What would it do to her to find out her hero was a part of something darker and far more sinister than she could possibly imagine? It would destroy them both. This precious woman...how it would crush her. He would never allow that. He could not bear to even think about it!

Worse yet…he found he so badly wanted to be her hero. Wanted to be the man she thought she saw. But he had fallen so far, how could he ever be anyone’s hero again?

John caressed her face, near tears again, feeling his face twitch with the effort of holding in his emotions.

"Victoria..." he whispered her name. The power of it shuddered through him.

"John..." she breathed against his skin. "Oh John..." She traced the lines of his face with an idle finger.

He should release her. He should let her go immediately—an excuse about Helen--anything. It would be for her own good. Someday, if the truth ever came to light she would thank him...

But oh, how desperately he needed her!

He lay his head against hers, closing his eyes, breathing her in. Oh, the heady scent of her floral perfume, the feminine softness of her body! His hands, of their own volition, tightened their grip on her, almost afraid to let her go.

"Victoria...it's been a long day. For you especially. I think...maybe we should...call it a night." He stroked her hair softly. "Before we take things farther than either of us intended." It was his last ditch effort to give her some space. Some room to reflect.

Her brow puckered, and she let out a cry of frustration that he found so adorable he nearly smiled. "Very well." she released him and took a step back.

"It's not that I don't want..."

"Please," she closed her eyes. "I assure you it is not necessary for you to explain."

"Yes," he said softly. "I think it is."

* * *

Victoria's turned away from him, her face burning. He reached for her, took her face in his hands and kissed her again with a passion that seared her.

"I want you. More than I want my next breath," he whispered against her cheek. He stroked her cheek with his thumb, his eyes deeply luminous and green, and so wonderfully close to her. "I don't want you to question that for one moment, do you hear me? When we make love, I want it to be right between us. Tonight doesn't feel right. You've had a tough day, and a scare. I didn't bring you home with me to take advantage of you, and that's what this feels like to me—that I'm taking advantage. I brought you here so you would be safe. And you are safe. Even from me." He stroked her hair softly.

She nodded, somewhat mollified. ‘When’ he’d said—not if. And she had to admit, he had a point. Her head was spinning, but how much of that was attributable to the events he had just mentioned versus his own attractiveness she did not know.

"Very well, I suppose I do see your point."

A smile teased his lips, and he gazed at her a moment more, stroking her lips with his finger. Then he bent his head and kissed her again, softly this time.

“I promise you it will be worth the wait,” he whispered.

"And now you tease me so! Oh, John, I shall miss you tonight dreadfully."

He smiled, and she loved to see how it lit his beautiful eyes with pleasure. "And I will miss you too. And if you still want me tomorrow, then I promise you, the wait will not be long."

He kissed her again, but this time it was goodnight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone is unfamiliar with the beautiful music included in this chapter and is interested in hearing it, here are some links:
> 
> "In the Mood"--https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6vOUYry_5Nw
> 
> "Tuxedo Junction"--https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iBTYcqtaOjg
> 
> "Stormy Weather" (Glenn Miller's instrumental version that John was playing)--https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S27z5pCf3PM  
> "Stormy Weather" (featuring Lena Horne/lyrics John was singing)--https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xzLkXdkuhX8
> 
> "At Last"--https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2TmN6l3-_Oo


	13. Hush-a-by Lady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Victoria have a chance to breathe and reflect as they say goodnight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “’Hush-a-by lady, in Alice’s lap!  
> Till the feast’s ready, we’ve time for a nap.  
> When the feast’s over, we’ll go to the ball--  
> Red Queen, and White Queen, and Alice, and all!’”
> 
> —Lewis Carroll, Alice through the Looking Glass

**Chapter 13—Hush-a-by Lady**

John could not stop himself walking her to her door. Could not stop himself from bending to kiss her one more time. He kissed her with deliberate slowness, luxuriating in her touch, in her scent. Lingering in the kiss, letting himself feel the magic of her touch all the way to his toes.

"Mmmm," she smiled as he released her with reluctance, ran her hands over his suspenders, down his chest. "Goodnight, Reichsmarschall."

He huffed a laugh. "Goodnight, Your Majesty. Sleep well."

"I shall." Her eyes found his. "I am sure now I shall."

They lingered a moment longer, lost in the shimmering sweetness. Until finally, manfully, he left her door and went to his own across the hall, closed it and did not turn back to look.

He stood on the other side, listening as her door closed softly. Well then. That was that. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Close. He had come too close. His body screamed at him to cross the hall to her room, kick in her door and pick up where they left off. But he meant what he said to her--he did not mean to take advantage of her tonight. She was in a compromised state, for God's sake. The least he could do was be a gentleman.

He ran a hand down his face and went into his bathroom, to splash some cold water on his face. Then he returned to the dining room and kitchen quietly to clear away the dishes, and put the leftovers in the fridge...

_..."Lord M! At last, you are here!"_

_"I came as quickly as possible, Ma'am," he said with a smile, charmed by her breathless greeting, as if her whole world were now made right because he was here. "I regret I could not get away sooner from the House." What a lovely picture she made tonight in her purple satin gown. His heart was instantly lightened. After a long and difficult day in Parliament, to find such beauty waiting for him made everything worthwhile. "What seems to be the trouble? Your message said it was urgent."_

_"It was--I mean, it is," she said, twisting her fingers as she composed herself to speak. "I had to see you."_

_"Yeees," he said, in a voice implying he was still waiting for her to come to the point._

_She wet her lips. "You have been so often at the House lately that I have missed you dreadfully."_

_"That is my job, Ma'am." God, was there any more lovely, sweet woman in the world? Not ever before had his absence been so keenly felt by any other woman in his life. This then, was the emergency? That she missed him? He felt himself smile._

_"I thought if I did not get to see you soon I should go mad," she finished in a rush. "Please--can you stay?"_

_It was. Oh, heavens preserve him, she was endlessly adorable._

_"Ma'am, the hour is rather late."_

_"But you are a night owl, Lord M."_

_"Well, so I am, but..." he huffed a laugh. "At some point surely, Ma'am, you should get some rest."_

_"Can you not stay for a single round of cards?" She twirled her fingers harder, her voice taking on a pleading tone._

_She was so exceedingly lovely. And he was wholly enchanted._

_"Or if you do not care for cards, perhaps you would prefer me to play for you on the pianoforte? Some Mozart, perhaps? You have rooms, after all, in the palace, and therefore do not have to return to Dover House, at all, if you do not care to--"_

_"--Ma'am, I--"_

_"—therefore, I might play for you until you grew tired, and then you could retire here."_

_He exhaled, defeated the moment he looked into her eyes, shining so brightly with hope. How could he refuse her something so simple?_

_"Perhaps one round of cards then, Ma'am. But you know how these things develop between us. You win a round, and then I will wish a rematch, then I will win, and you will want the best out of three, and before we know what has happened, dawn is upon us. And I do have to return to the House tomorrow."_

_"I promise, only one round," she grinned broadly, happiness infusing her entire countenance, her eyes dancing with delight. "And you will stay?"_

_Oh, the temptation of what she proposed! They would sit up in her parlour for nearly the whole of the night together, quite close to her rooms, and then he was supposed to retire at the other end of the palace to sleep afterward? Did he dare trust himself with her so far?_

_"If you insist, Ma'am," he heard himself say._

_"Oh, thank you, Lord M," she said with a sigh, and looped her arm through the crook of his elbow with too much familiarity, her touch sending fire through his veins. "I so love having you here. I think I sleep better whenever you are under my roof."_

_"Do you indeed? Why is that?" he could not stop himself from asking, forbearing to point out he almost never slept under her roof, knowing that a few corridors away, along a route he knew like the back of his hand, was her bedchamber._

_"I am not entirely sure," she mused, absently holding herself far closer to his arm than she should, but then, there was nobody about but the two of them. "I think I feel safer somehow. More secure, just knowing you are there."_

_"You are safe enough without me, surely," he pointed out with a chuckle. "Buckingham Palace is the most heavily guarded building in the country, Ma'am. I don't comprehend how my humble presence adds to your other fortifications in any appreciable way."_

_She flashed him a coy look._

_"Nevertheless, it does. You shall just have to take my word upon the matter, Lord M. Perhaps you may consider your compliance to be your contribution to my peace of mind."_

_"I am always glad to be of service in any way you need me, Ma'am."_

_"Thank you, Lord M," she sighed with contentment and lay her head against his arm for a moment. "Shall we play at piquet?"_

_Predictably, they had not played long when she began to doze. The first few times, he had stirred her awake again, but on the third time he merely sighed. Selfishly he remained, gazing at her for some moments--elbows propped on the table, cards wavering, her head bowed--dear God, but she was lovely. She had stayed awake all this time in the hope of seeing him. For a chance to spend a few stolen moments together. It was enough to break his heart clean in two. But there was no help for the matter. She was too tired to continue. Without thinking, he found himself slipping her hand of cards from her weakened grasp and setting them down gently on the table face-down, and hoisting his little Queen into his arms. He was halfway to her bedchamber before he thought clearly about what he was doing._

_He had not wished to wake her, truthfully. The thought had gone no farther than that. Perhaps his own sleep-deprived judgment had resulted in his poor decision-making, or perhaps it was something else he dared not contemplate too closely. But carry her he did, all the way to her bedchamber, where he deposited her gently onto her bed--gown, jewels, slippers and all. Whereupon he stood back a moment, contemplating her._

_Should he assist in making her more comfortable?_

_The answer to that question was a resounding no. He should do no such thing. For he'd already gone far too far already. He should leave her room now. In fact, he should quit the palace entirely and make straight for Dover House with all speed, before he did anything else so utterly foolish._

_But clearly he'd taken leave of his senses some time ago, and he couldn't bear to think of her so uncomfortably settled. So he reached down to her tiny feet, and slid them free of her slippers. These he lay close to the fire, whereupon he stood back, with hand behind his neck, and contemplated her further._

_She still looked blastedly uncomfortable. But he did not dare attempt more. Touching her again would doubtless wake her, and compromise them both even further--to say nothing of what touching her, especially in her bedchamber, stirred inside of himself. Already his hands fair shook with the memory of the bundle he'd just carried. Her warmth, her scent, her body’s curves and contours filled his senses...._

_He found himself standing over her one more time, as if in truth he could not tear himself away. In the end, he bent to her again, planting a kiss on her forehead softly in farewell, stroking her hair back gently from her face._

_He had almost reached the door when he heard a rustle of silk behind him._

_"Goodnight, Lord M."_

_Her words were slurred with sleep, but rang with love. He paused at the door, overcome. "Sleep well, my Queen"..._

... John blinked as the vision faded from his mind. Looking around himself, he discovered he was standing in his kitchen, now completely spotless. Confused, he returned to the dining room to see it too was completely cleared. Shaking his head, he crossed into the living room and went straight to the wet bar, where he found the brandy and refilled his decanter. Taking this and a glass, he returned to his room.

These visions were happening more and more frequently. So much so that he hardly noticed them anymore, and now apparently he simply carried on with the mundane activities of his life while in the grips of one, not even realizing what he was doing.

He frowned, working the buttons of his shirtsleeves thoughtfully, shrugging out of his suspenders and untucking his shirttail. Perhaps he was imagining things. Too many of those damned films. To say nothing of Victoria's loveliness--that alone was enough to spark a man to fantasize without any additional provocation. Was it because she had told him he resembled Melbourne that he kept imagining Melbourne with her, imaging what must have been between them? Surely that was the most likely explanation. He found her attractive, after all. Wildly attractive.

No. What he felt for her went way beyond attraction.

He had feelings for her. Real feelings. And that, by far, was the hardest part of this whole thing to explain, even to himself.

Why?

He whipped the shirt off his shoulders and draped it across Helen's chair.

_Helen._

A surge of anger hit him like a tide. If she had just been here—just stayed with him! None of this would have happened!

He poured himself a brandy. Downed it in one gulp. Poured another.

She should be here! She should be right in that chair, dressing for bed. He should be able to put his arms around her and nuzzle into her neck. To bring her to his bed and lose himself in her softness. If she had been here, he wouldn't be fantasizing about Victoria. Sure, he probably would have found her attractive, but things would have ended there.

He downed another brandy and set the glass down hard.

Well, she wasn't here, and she may never be here again. He sighed. No. This wasn't Helen's fault. Even in his anger at the stinging bite of her abandonment, he could not lay that much at her door. This, whatever this was, was between Victoria and himself alone.

The saddest--and in some ways most frightening--part of all was that he knew deep inside himself that even if Helen had been here, it would have changed nothing. He may not have acted, but the feelings would have been there. Perhaps this way was best for all concerned.

He whipped his undershirt off his head and dropped it into the floor before sitting down to take off his boots, his thoughts returning to Victoria. To his visions.

Surely, they were just his imagination playing tricks on him. A combination of sleep-deprivation and stress--along with a healthy dose of enforced abstinence and all the frustration that produced.

He shucked off his pants and slipped into his pajama bottoms. John did not usually bother with underwear, finding them too constraining on his old soldier to wear on most days, and today had been no exception. No need for any additional modesty with his girls gone, so he didn’t bother sleeping in a shirt either. He went into the bathroom, brushed his teeth. Stopped and looked at himself in the mirror a long moment.

Then he climbed into bed, bringing the brandy and his cigarettes with him. He sat up against the headboard and indulged himself in a long smoke.

How had Melbourne resisted her? And God, what it must have cost him...

Putting out the cigarette, he took a last drink, his mind now pleasantly buzzing. And with the combined efforts of brandy, cigarettes and Victoria's sweet kisses, he finally drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Victoria leaned up against her door and sighed. Her lips tingled still with John's kisses. Her experience of such matters was limited to three men, but only two of them had ever moved her thus.

Lord M--and John Smith.

She began to prepare for bed, carefully removing her jacket, her dress. Her undergarments with relief. She did so like the ability to care for herself. How lovely to be quite independent!

She donned a new nightdress she had bought made of a rather lovely white satin and trimmed in lace, then sat at her dressing table to remove her cosmetics. These ablutions complete, she again visited the water closet, and brushed her teeth with the marvelous brush and deliciously minty toothpaste, then returned to bed.

The bed was soft and so luxurious she sighed as she slipped beneath the coverlet, between cool sheets, turning away from the emptiness of the other half, trying not to imagine John there.

How could he be so like Lord M when he was not?

John’s assessment of her had been correct. She was confused. Confused, disoriented, and tired, though sleep evaded her.

Oh, everywhere she looked, she saw his face! That, and the contemplation of more besides left her lying awake.

Towards the end of their dancing as John had kissed her, his hands had drifted low on her body, and Victoria had found herself pressed quite up against him, feeling the unmistakable evidence of his desire.

Oh, the memory of his body's reaction to her left her mouth dry! She had not been able to help noticing how large he felt. The observation made her cheeks burn, even alone as she was in the dark. But not even her shame could derail the scandalous train of her thoughts, and she lay contemplating truly wanton things, undeterred.

Though she had not understood such matters at the time, she had felt Lord M thus on more than one occasion. When they had kissed, certainly. And the night of the coronation ball, when she had pulled him close to her, she was certain that she had felt him then too. It was only after her marriage, of course, that she looked back upon the memory with new understanding, realizing what she had felt, and what it had meant.

Of course, it gave her pleasure to realize the level of the response she had provoked in him. But it had also made her profoundly curious. She could swear the memory of him was...bigger...than, for instance, Albert in the same state. But at the time, she had thought her mind had played tricks upon her--perhaps her feelings for the man himself enhanced her memory. But after tonight she was convinced she had not been imagining anything.

She giggled softly. The resemblance between John Smith and William Lamb clearly did not end with their handsome faces.

She threw herself on her belly in frustration and punched her pillow, immediately repenting of her wicked desires.

She was married. He was married.

Oh, why? Why was she fated to marry a man who barely tolerated her, who would much rather be doing anything at all other than attending her? If not for Lord M and John Smith, she should think herself a troll who was wholly unattractive to men, even as a queen.

In an attempt to change the focus of her thoughts, she wondered briefly what the to-do must be at home in her absence. Albert would most certainly have been sent for, by now. But she did not imagine he would be at all concerned for her. Only too happy to step into her shoes however, and make himself king in her place. She wondered how long he would continue to search for her before calling her lost. Probably only as far as appearances would force him to. And he would probably lose no time in telling the Privy Council and House of Lords that it was owing to her own irresponsible, careless and frivolous behavior that she was lost to begin with, and just as well the country now had someone more reliable at the helm.

She huffed her indignation at this. If ever she made her way back, she would give him such a piece of her mind...

Well. Such thought was useless anyway. All Albert had ever wanted was her crown. She supposed now that she was out of the way, he would have everything he wanted, without the presence of an inconvenient wife thrown into the bargain.

How different things might have been…

Her entire existence had been lived inside a box of someone else's making. Duty bound to stay inside of its boundaries for the good of all. She was so tired of that box.

She reached out and took Lord M's pocket-watch into her hands and kissed it, curled on her side, held it to her heart as she slipped deeper into the pillow.

What she would not give to hold him instead!

But he was gone. And in his place, heaven had sent her John.

She stroked the watch thoughtfully.

"Would you mind, Dearest?" she asked of it. "Would it pain you to see me with him thus? For he is so like you...and I miss you so." She kissed the watch again, and laid it back on the table.

This weekend. They would go to the lake for the whole of the weekend. Away from the city, with all its dangers. Just she and John. She smiled. She could hardly wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just FYI, Chapter 14 is also posted, but please feel free to pause and leave me a comment! I love hearing your thoughts! :)


	14. Remember Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has another dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “’He’s dreaming now,’ said Tweedledee, ‘And what do you think he’s dreaming about?’  
> Alice said, ‘Nobody can guess that.’  
> ‘Why, about you!’ Tweedledee exclaimed, clapping his hands triumphantly. ‘And if he left off dreaming about you, where do you suppose you'd be?’  
> ‘Where I am now, of course,’ said Alice.  
> ‘Not you!’ Tweedledee retorted contemptuously. ‘You'd be nowhere. Why, you're only a sort of thing in his dream!’  
> ‘If that there King was to wake,’ added Tweedledum, ‘you'd go out--bang!--just like a candle!’  
> ‘I shouldn't!’ Alice exclaimed indignantly.”  
> ― Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There

**Chapter 14—Remember Me**

_A disturbance of wind moved through the greenhouse, enough for him to recognize he was no longer alone. He straightened, set aside his implements. The next batch of royal orchids was nearly ready--nearly perfect enough for her. Just a little more time and care, and they would be just right to pluck, to send to the palace with his complements._

_It had been a long time since they'd been close. Much had happened--at least on her side. She was far too busy to spare him time now. He knew that. Knew, and understood. She was a young wife and mother now, to say nothing of being Queen. It was right that she stayed away. Right that she should move on with her life--had he not always told her so? Had he not always told himself the day would come?_

_Of course he had. He was not a fool._

_He sighed. Of course, he was a fool. He had known matters would come to this. Always known. Known, and loved her anyway._

_"I'm here, Bains," he called out to his steward, bending again to the orchid he was tending. "Have you brought the tea?"_

_"I have not, I'm afraid."_

_He froze. Time itself seemed to freeze. A voice like a small chorus of silver bells. Was he dreaming? He couldn't bear to be dreaming..._

_He swallowed manfully and turned around, and it was as if the sun had come out. He blinked in her radiance. By God, she grew more beautiful every time he saw her._

_"Your Majesty!" He heard himself croak, smiling like a halfwit. "Wh--what brings you here? I thought you to be in London."_

_"Just because I reside in London, does not mean I cannot take a small excursion now and again--particularly to see an old friend."_

_She favored him with a bright smile, and in that moment, he could have wept like a child. Indeed, he had to blink several times to clear his swimming vision._

_"Are you...alone?" He could have choked on his words, bluntly spoken, and with a tinge of desperation. How gauche he sounded! By Jove, he was out of practice with his courtly manners._

_"I am," she said, still smiling, gracefully overlooking his clumsiness. "I hope I do not intrude upon you?"_

_"Never," he heard himself say with too much honesty. "I am only too delighted to see you."_

_She stood a little ways away, twirling her fingers in that nervous gesture that always told him she had something on her mind. He approached her, trembling in every limb. If this was a dream, he never wanted to wake up._

_He dropped to his knee before her, ignoring the wince of pain, and took her delicate little hand in his and held it to his lips, flattered that she had hastily removed her glove so that there was nothing between them. He stroked her hand with his thumb quite without realizing, and pressed it to his lips, closing his eyes, holding it a little too long as he planted a grateful kiss on her soft skin before releasing it._

_He rose to his feet again, masking the pain but gratified that he could still rise somewhat gracefully before her. Her expression was soft, radiant, and she seemed to drink him in the way he did her._

_"What a delightful surprise. To what do I owe the great honor of your visit, Ma'am?"_

_She surprised him further by reaching for both of his hands. He gazed at them in wonder, almost as if they belonged to someone else. She took his hands in hers and squeezed them._

_"Please tell me that we have not been so long absent from each other that we have quite lost our sense of intimacy, Lord M."_

_She had not intended to, but her words hurt him. How he had longed for intimacy with her...for continued friendship, certainly, but for so much more besides. Such was now lost to them forever._

_"Of course not, Ma'am," he said, swallowing his pain and smiling into her eyes. "I am here if ever you have need of me. I hope that you realize that."_

_"Of course," she sighed and took a step forward, her eyes shining up at him. "Oh, how I have missed you, Lord M!"_

_He swallowed hard, blinking back the tears that threatened, remembering how he had foolishly once reprimanded her for saying such, remarking it had been all of a day and a half. How bitter were those words now! How much he would give to go back and relieve just one day from that happy time!_

_Daring greatly, he stroked her hands with his thumbs._

_"I have missed you too, Ma'am." It was not fitting in the slightest that he should voice such sentiments. But his heart would not be denied the communicating of this one truth. "Shall we take a turn about the garden? Or would you prefer to rest here, or maybe at the house?"_

_"I care not where we are. So long as I am with you."_

_His breath left him at the expression in her eyes. This seemed to be an afternoon of sharing truths._

_"There is a bench just there," he pointed out. "Behind the roses. It is a pleasant place for conversation."_

_She looped her arm delicately through his, and he led her on. They sat side by side, surrounded by fragrant, climbing roses. The area was secluded and not visible from the front of the greenhouse, lending them a certain degree of privacy._

_"Now. Tell me all the news. I trust you are well."_

_"I am. And you?"_

_"I am also. And how is the royal household? Well too, I trust?"_

_"Yes all frightfully well. Children are all very well."_

_"And the Prince?"_

_"He is well enough. But I do not wish to speak of him."_

_He took one look at the pain in her eyes and his heart twisted. Damned fool of a man, what had he done?_

_"Very well then, we shall not. For in truth, I do not wish to hear, anyway."_

_She looked at him, amusement suddenly in her eyes, and she sputtered with mirth. "Oh Lord M. Oh you have no idea how I miss your letters."_

_"My letters?" He frowned for a moment. "Are you not receiving them?"_

_Her look sharpened, and she gazed up at him in astonishment. "No. I have not received a one! Not for months."_

_He sighed heavily. "I suppose it has been awhile since you have received any blooms from my greenhouse, either."_

_"Yes, it has." Her eyes were fixed on him, still in shock, but he sighed and looked away._

_He should have expected as much. What an old fool he truly had become._

_"Lord M, am I to understand that you are sending me letters--and flowers too--that I am not receiving?"_

_"It would appear so, Ma'am. For I have sent both faithfully. At least once per week."_

_She huffed her indignation and stood. "And I suppose you are not receiving any of my letters!"_

_He looked up abruptly. "You have written to me, Ma'am?"_

_"Every day," she said, tears in her eyes. "Though you did not reply. And I thought... I thought..."_

_"What did you think?" he said, standing too._

_"That you did not wish to write. That you did not wish to continue being friends."_

_The air rushed out of him._

_Protocol be damned._

_He reached out and smoothed a stray tendril of her hair back over her ear, caressing her. "I shall ever count you among my dearest friends, Ma'am. Never think for one moment that you are forgotten. Or not valued. Not by me."_

_She clasped his hand in both of hers, and astonished him greatly by caressing his palm with her cheek. "You must have thought I abandoned you as well." She turned her face to his hand, and pressed a small, fervent kiss against his skin. "Oh, my Lord M. You are so very, very dear to me too."_

_His heart melted. He wanted to take her into his arms. Wanted to shower her with kisses...._

_"As you are to me...Ma'am," he said hoarsely._

_"Always know it," she whispered, pressing his hand hard against her face, "Always know it my dearest...my darling--"_

_"--Ma'am, we should not--"_

_"--Should not what? We are quite beyond their reach here. Can we not at least say what is in both our hearts, even to each other?"_

_"Ma'am, I--"_

_"Please...can I not hear my name on your lips today? My dearest William?"_

_He sighed, helpless and overcome._

_"You do not know how I have longed to hear my name on your lips, My Queen."_

_"It is the same longing I feel," she said, stepping into him._

_"Victoria," he whispered, "We are on dangerous ground. We cannot continue thus."_

_"Why not?" She asked boldly, kissing his hand again._

_He bit his lip._

_"We cannot be this way with each other. Not now.”_

_"Why not? Have your feelings changed? Mine have not."_

_"How can that be? You are a married woman now, Ma'am!"_

_"And how happy I should have been if YOU had consented to be my husband!"_

_"Do not--remind me. That time is past; we cannot change it now."_

_"No. We cannot. But my feelings for you have never abated. Have yours?"_

_"No," his breath was harsh. "They have not."_

_"Can we not at least say as much to each other?" her fingers landed on his lips, and he stifled a groan._

_"Victoria, please...we must stop this before we act rashly."_

_"I love you," she continued. "William Lamb. Do you hear me? I love you."_

_"I hear you," he rasped out, his heart shattering in his chest. "I love you too. With all my heart and soul. Victoria."_

_"I love you. I wanted it to be you. I always wanted it to be you."_

_"You don't think I wanted that?" Tears sprang to his eyes. "I wanted you so badly I could hardly be in your presence at times!"_

_"You pushed me away!"_

_"No! I did it--for you! For your sake! I wanted you to be happy!"_

_"I am not. I am not happy! Do you not understand I need YOU to be happy!"_

_"It was impossible. You know it was! You are my monarch!"_

_"You were the one who saw that barrier, William. Not I. With you I only ever wanted to be a woman. Your woman."_

_"It was not to be. Our union would have cost you everything!"_

_"It HAS cost me everything now! Now I yearn for a man who is always denied me!"_

_He couldn't stop the tears now._

_"You have a husband," he said the words almost to himself, a long-practiced mantra. "Young. Handsome. No doubt generous in bed."_

_"He is not you!"_

_"Would that he WERE!"_

_"Yes! Would that he were! For it is YOUR touch that I long for! Your kisses I cannot forget!"_

_"I should never have kissed you. I was wrong to do so."_

_"I have cherished those memories always. Can you tell me you have not?"_

_"I have. Far, far too much."_

_"My darling. Oh, my darling, I yearn for you, body and soul."_

_"And I you. Victoria, dear God! What would you have me say?"_

_"Everything! I would have you tell me everything that is in your heart for me."_

_"To what end?"_

_"To hear the words! What else is left to us?" she asked, tears rolling down her cheeks, her fingers touching his lips again. "Oh William. You were ever my love. You always shall be. Can we not at least speak what we feel?"_

_"Words will not help," he said with a sigh. "We are way beyond words now, you and I. Now you have seen me, you see for yourself that I was not withholding my affection from you. Be reassured I never shall. I shall always love you, Victoria. But this will only pain us both further."_

_"No. We shall be better for the confessing."_

_He huffed a sigh._

_"Very well. I love you. More than anything. More than I ever thought possible. More than Caro, more than all the others. And I want you--God how I want you, even now! Enough to dishonor you here and now were I...younger and brasher," he finished with a smile. "You shall ever be my greatest love. My darling girl, do you not know by now how I would pull down the heavens and lay them at your feet if it were in my power to do so? But it was not...meant to be for us. It was best for all," he touched her cheek, caressed her face. "Best for all that you marry where you did."_

_"It was not best for us. And therefore, not best for all."_

_"No. It was not best for us. But sometimes in this life we cannot have what we wish for. We must learn to make the best of what we have."_

_"What do you wish for, William?" She whispered, nuzzling her face into his hand._

_He swallowed hard. "You. I wish for you, my darling girl. I have, ever since the beginning of our acquaintance, and I shall until my dying breath. But if wishes were horses, beggars would ri--"_

_His words were cut off by her kiss._

_He shuddered. Moaned into her, and for a moment, melted into her kiss, opened himself to her, accepting and returning all she was willing to bestow._

_"I have never stopped wanting you," she whispered against his cheek. "I cannot stop thinking how it would have been between us. How you would have felt insi--"_

_It was his turn to cut off her words with a searing kiss. He took her face in his hands and kissed her deeply, with all the desperate passion of his soul. It was wrong. He should not do this! But oh, he could not stop himself! Poor, starved wretch that he was, needing her, falling into her touch, her sighs..._

_"My darling love," he rasped, cradling her head between his hands, touching his forehead to hers, "God, Ma'am, you always push me to my limits. Very well, you want to know? You want me to tell you of the fire that burns in my veins for you every day of my life? Bloody hell, do you not think I wish myself inside of you? This moment? Well, I do! Damn it all, I do! There is not a day goes by I do not wish myself buried inside of you! That I do not curse myself for a fool for turning you away when I had the chance of reaching out for you and claiming you as my own! As it is, I am left to my regrets, every day of my life to mourn the fact that I will never love you. Never pleasure you. Never look into your eyes as I bring you to climax with myself inside of you, in all the many ways I want to worship your body with mine._

_“Instead, my bed is cold and empty, and I have only the knowledge that the privilege I so crave is given to another to keep me warm. Damn it all to hell!" He took her mouth beneath his again and kissed her almost roughly. "Yes, I love you! Yes, oh yes, oh God save me, yes! I desire you, now and always! But we cannot be that to each other! You know it as well as I." He kissed her again, and the longing--the bone-deep need of her, poured from him into her, and she moaned so beautifully into him that he was blinded with the need to lay her in the soft bed of flowers at his feet and take her here and now._

_"Oh my love...my darling love..."_

_He buried his face in her neck, breathing her in. He was drowning. Drowning in her. He wanted to drown. He wanted never to surface again. Her touch, her kiss, her scent...was the very air he needed to breathe._

_"Oh, my Victoria... What I wouldn't give to do it all over again! Should I ever get the opportunity, I should not waste one second--not one second that I could be loving you." He took her mouth with his, his passion, his bottomless need overwhelming all other considerations as he kissed her hard and deep, willing with all his might that he could give her more. So much more._

_She wept as he kissed her, the love of her innocent, beautiful heart flooding him through their touch, until his own cheeks ran wet with the tracks of his own tears._

_He knew not how long they stood there, kissing and weeping, comforting each other as they could, knowing they were wrong even to share this much, but unable to stop themselves. And when their kisses subsided, they remained, holding and petting each other softly, making love to each other with their words where their bodies dared not follow. And they kissed some more, deep and passionate. They poured themselves into each other, holding nothing back now, until there was nothing more to be shared but what could not be._

_"It is enough," he said at last, smiling bravely into her eyes, "to know your heart is mine. Selfish brute that I am, if I truly loved you I would wish your heart were his. But I find I cannot be so magnanimous."_

_"You were right all along," she whispered, caressing his face lightly. "I did give my heart without hesitation. But I'm afraid I did not follow your advice to the letter."_

_"So I see, Ma'am," he said, laying his head against hers and nuzzling her softly. "I should chide you, you know. But I find I do not have the courage to fault you for your appalling taste in men."_

_"Do not speak of yourself so, not even in jest. Oh, My Love," she said, kissing his cheek, his jaw, his chin, raining precious little kisses over his face until he groaned. "My heart will ever be yours. No one else will ever be to me what you are. What I wish you to be..."_

_"I wish it too. You know I do."_

_He took her mouth once more. Once more, to last him a lifetime. Once more, to say goodbye._

_She tasted his despair however, and broke away._

_"No!" She said, tears in her eyes. "It must not be time to go; it must not!"_

_"You must," he whispered, feeling his heart break. "You will be missed. Questions will be asked."_

_"I don't give a FIG for questions! Damn the questions! Damn them all! The questions and others....they have kept us apart!"_

_"No, My Darling. They have not. For you are here now, despite the machinations of those around you. We are bound together in spirit in a way that is beyond their reach." She pulled away to gaze into his eyes. "We belong to each other, Victoria. He may have your body, and I do damn him for it. But our hearts are entwined. Not in a thousand lifetimes will anyone come between what we are to each other. What you are to me. Promise me you will always remember," he whispered softly, nuzzling against her. "Remember this day. Remember that I love you. That not a force on earth can stop my loving you." He kissed her sweet lips again in farewell, and knew it would be for the last time._

_"And I you. Oh, My Darling Love. My William." Her hands flew to his face, caressing._

_"Remember..." he said, touching her cheek. "Remember..."_

_"Remember..."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters 13 and 14 started out in the same chapter. But John's dream sort of needed to stand alone, so I gave it a chapter all to itself. 
> 
> As always, I love your comments if you care to leave them! Thanks as always for reading!


	15. The Reichsmarschall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John returns to the office to take care of some business, while Victoria attempts to sort through her growing feelings for him.
> 
> *Warning: Nazi advisory in effect for this chapter. Chapter may contain uncomfortable reminders of the murky waters John swims in. Brace for turbulence. Apologies in advance if it proves too turbulent.*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “’Well its no use YOUR talking about waking him,’ said Tweedledum, ‘When you’re only one of the things in his dream. You know very well you’re not real.’  
> ‘I AM real!’ said Alice, and began to cry.  
> ‘You won’t make yourself a bit realer by crying,’ Tweedledee remarked: ‘There’s nothing to cry about.’  
> ‘If I wasn’t real,’ Alice said--half-laughing through her tears, it all seemed so ridiculous—’I shouldn’t be able to cry.’  
> ‘I hope you don’t suppose those are REAL tears?’ Tweedledum interrupted in a tone of great contempt.  
> ‘I know they’re talking nonsense,’ Alice thought to herself: ‘And it’s foolish to cry about it.’ So she brushed away her tears and went on as cheerfully as she could.”  
> —Lewis Carroll, Alice Through the Looking Glass

**Chapter 14—The Reichsmarschall**

John awoke, sat bolt upright in bed. Breathing hard, his body trembling. He ran a hand through his hair and stood, the shreds of his dream still clinging to him. Fully and painfully aroused, he made his way to the bathroom, and set the shower water for cold.

These dreams, these visions were getting out of hand. Perhaps if he just bedded her...

No. That would be wrong on so many levels. If and when they made love, it would not be because he was attempting to silence dreams he did not know what to do with.

Firmly setting thoughts of Lord Melbourne and Victoria aside, he showered and changed into a fresh uniform, readying himself for work. Bridget was there making coffee when he emerged into the kitchen, but he sent her away again.

After Bridget left, John stood in the doorway of the guest room, smiling at Victoria’s sleeping form. Just needing to lay eyes on her. Make sure she was still here, and comfortable. Good to know at least one of them slept soundly last night, without troubled dreams.

He entered the room, drawn to her. Unable to stay away.

She rolled towards him instinctively as he sat on the side of her bed, feasting his eyes on her tousled hair, her peaceful expression.

He could not stop himself leaning over and kissing her between her eyes.

"Mmmm..." her eyes fluttered open, and she smiled. "John..."

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty," he smiled, liking the way his name sounded on her lips early in the morning.

She closed her eyes again briefly and giggled slightly. "Good morning, Handsome Prince."

He leaned in and kissed her sweet lips, loving how she came to life beneath his touch, how her fingers wound themselves into the short hair at the nape of his neck. He pulled away far too quickly. If he lingered too long, he'd never leave her.

"Don't get up," he whispered. "Sleep as long as you like. I didn't want to leave without saying goodbye."

"Leave?" She did sit up, frowning. "Oh. Of course. You must go to your office."

"Yes I must. But I'll be home sooner than you know it." He leaned in and kissed her again. "Get some rest today...you'll need it."

She smiled at him widely.

"Oh, I sent Bridget away for a bit. I thought it best that she give you a little space this morning before she comes in. There's coffee in the kitchen. I'll try to arrange for your apartment to be cleaned out later, too, so don't be surprised if your things start to arrive. And with any luck--your piano will be here soon, too."

"You are too generous," she said and kissed him again.

"I have to go," he broke away with regret. "Just...please. Don't go anywhere today."

"I promise I shall not."

"Good." He kissed her one last time. "I don't want to leave you."

"Go, that you can come back to me all the sooner."

He left her side, smiling. It was good to know he would be missed today. Closing her door softly behind himself, he strolled to the elevator, whistling on his way down. He allowed himself one moment in his private elevator to relish the anticipation of his return home tonight. And then his thoughts turned to darker matters as he descended further.

What the hell happened last night? What role did his security men play in the debacle? He and Victoria now found themselves in a highly compromising position as a result of someone's mishandling of events, and he intended to make sure that the appropriate parties were disciplined accordingly. He must get to the bottom of it and soon. This incident would not go unpunished.

Such thoughts raced through his mind as he made his way across town and through the lobby of the GNR building, crossing the various checkpoints. He noticed that soldiers stepped more hastily than usual to snap to salute, to clear his path. Good. In his current state of mind, such fear was only too healthy on their parts.

"Reichsmarschall!" Metzger saluted too from his post, greeting him with a 'Heil Himmler.'

"Major," he said in acknowledgment. "Step into my office, please, and close the door." He did not turn around, but heard his subordinate hasten to comply. "You may be aware of last night's events?" he began after the door closed in the quiet, almost friendly tone that he adopted during interrogations. "That is, at least, I'm expecting a report to have crossed your desk by now."

"Yes Sir," Metzger handed him the folder, aware that his supervisor's tone of voice meant trouble. "Is... Miss Buckingham alright, Sir?"

"She's had a scare, Major. But she's safe enough, for now, no thanks to the two officers who were supposed to prevent this from happening. Both of whom I will want to speak with as soon as I've looked over their report."

"Yes, Sir."

"And Major, since the security of the women's dormitory is insufficient to ensure the safety of this longstanding friend of my family, I want all her things moved out this afternoon and sent to my apartment."

"Your apartment, Sir?"

"Yes," he fixed the Major with a steely glare, daring him to think about that further. "My apartment. Since no one else is capable of making sure she stays safe, it seems to be the only solution for the time being. Have all her personal affects stripped from her apartment and delivered to mine before lunchtime."

"Yes, Sir!"

"My appointments for today?"

"You do have one, Reichsmarschall. Trade Minister Tagomi is on his way to New York, Sir, for his meeting with you. Your appointment is for this afternoon at four o’clock.”

“Ah. Very good.” He nodded in satisfaction. In the excitement of the last few days, he’d completely forgotten the Trade Minister’s phone call a week before, scheduling the meeting. “And when does he land?”

“At about three o’clock, Sir.”

“Take a car and a delegation and meet his plane. Make sure our allies know they are welcomed and received with all honor. Then bring him straight here. See to it that security is tight around the Trade Minister. We don’t want any incidents.”

“Understood, Sir.”

“Any word yet from Berlin?”

“None, Sir.”

"Thank you Major. I could use some coffee now, and breakfast."

"Coffee is on your desk Sir. I'll have breakfast sent up right away."

"Thank you," he dismissed his assistant and crossed his office to find coffee indeed on his desk and piping hot. He took a sip and found it perfectly to his liking. He had to say one thing for Metzger. He had at least learned how to make a mean cup of joe.

As to the rest of it, well. He would prefer his situation with Victoria to go unnoticed, but he could hardly expect that now. Now his best bet was to be open about it—to make it look like he was hiding nothing. She was a woman in need of security. She was a long-time friend, and the Resistance was after her. He would just have to keep on hammering that story, flimsy though it might be. At least he had some justification for his decision to move her in.

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. God, how he wished things could be different. For her, for him. He wished he did not have to move her out at all. But now he could feel the clock ticking already. Who knew when Himmler would recover and immediately throw them to the dogs? It was a tightrope he walked now. But then, that was hardly new.

He made a few calls, before he forgot, on Victoria's behalf. Madame Edith's salon was horrified at the details of Miss Buckingham's near-abduction, and would be more than happy to reroute all her purchases to the Reichsmarschall's apartment. And yes, they would be delighted also to send along some swim wear, at her request. He smiled to himself. Victoria hadn't requested it, he had. But there was only so much he could tell Madame Edith, after all. And she would need something suitable for their weekend excursion.

The music shop also would be pleased to swap the small, standing piano he previously ordered for a baby grand, and would deliver it to his apartment before the end of the day, along with all the sheet music he purchased in his original order.

The most pleasant business of his day now concluded, he accepted the delivery of his breakfast, and sat down to eat and read the report from last night.

Predictably, it detailed that the two officers, naturally hard at work, did not hear the suspects enter the building. He rolled his eyes, his anger rising. Did they think him a fool?

The two would-be abductors in question had been identified. Nicholas Avery and Jacob Winters. One worked on the docks in the Port of New York offloading cargo. Another, as a mechanic in a shop in the Bronx. No immediate family for either had been found. Both had been linked to Resistance activities in the greater New York area in the last few months. Both carried pistols, two Colt M1911's--standard issue WWII US Army handguns--and nothing else.

Typical MO of the Resistance.

So it would appear his suspicions along those lines had been correct. Though the independent operatives generally carried nothing that would identify them or incriminate their affiliation with their little crusade, Wyatt Price was the notorious leader of all Resistance cells in and around the capital city, possibly for the entire GNR. And therefore the link between this attempted abduction, the Resistance and Price himself was established.

He reached for his phone.

"Major, did anyone cross-reference the names of our two henchmen with U.S. Army records?"

"Not yet, Sir."

"Get on it. And include anagrams, along with any and all spelling and name variations."

"Right away Sir."

"And has anyone been around to check their places of employment?"

"No Sir, not that I am aware of."

“See to that too, Major. We need to follow every lead if we’re going to track these rats back to their hole.”

“Understood.”

"Send in Captain Parker and Lieutenant Braithwait. I wish to see them immediately."

"Yes, Reichsmarschall!"

He hung up the phone with a sigh, lighting a cigarette thoughtfully. The guns indicated the possibility that the two would-be abductors were former U.S. Military.

Much of the military had gone in for Resistance activities, so it was not a far stretch. The search through the old US Army archives would either prove or disprove this theory, and if service records were in fact found, with any luck they might also yield photographs that would be useful in verifying their identities. Or not.

Either way, he would find them, their families, and their Resistance connections. And eventually, he’d reel in Price himself.

Though problematic in the past, Price had never really elevated himself to the level of a serious threat--until recently. John was still investigating the circumstances surrounding the attack on Himmler at _Jahr Null_ , and Price was already heavily under suspicion for his potential role in that assassination attempt. Now though, he had come after Victoria. The only reason John could see for that was a connection to himself, and that meant war, as far as John was concerned.

If he had to guess at a motive for Price's attempted abduction of Victoria, he would swear it came down to the capture of Juliana Crain, and perhaps the Abendsens. If rumors were correct about Price being Juliana’s latest lover, then the motive was clear on that basis alone.

So. Price wanted to play hard ball, did he? Well, he had now painted a big, fat target on his own head. He needed to be dealt with, decisively. And fast. The sooner he could nullify the Resistance's threat to Victoria, the sooner he could safely move her out of his apartment, and nullify the same threat to her from Himmler himself.

Which would then mean there would be no urgency for him to find a way to send her home, and he could maybe keep her here with him longer.

He crossed to the window, looked out across the city at his apartment, his thoughts training to Victoria.

They could be careful, fly under the radar. Himmler would turn a blind eye, the same way he did to his other officers’ indiscretions. So long as he didn’t trot her out into the public eye again or flaunt his infidelity in any grand fashion, they would be okay.

A knock on his door, and Major Metzger appeared, followed by the two officers he sent for.

"Reichsmarschall! Heil Himmler!" The Captain spoke, but both men snapped to attention and saluted him.

"Gentlemen," he said, laying his cigarette down in its ashtray, deliberately not dismissing Metzger, and leaving the doors open with two rifle-toting guards standing at either side. "Thank you for coming," he said, circling around to his desk and standing in front of it. "I've read your report on the attack last night on my close family friend." He held up the file in question. "And I admit, I have some additional questions about the handling of this particularly important task that I hand-picked you both to fulfill." He infused the friendly tone of his words with just enough meaning, enough inflection to make his displeasure clear.

Both men stood at attention, staring past him. Both men started to sweat.

"The report was remarkably vague on a few points, which I should like you to expound upon. Would you mind...enlightening me...on how you failed to identify and intercept two armed men, creeping into a small, quiet, but heavily surveillanced building? A building housing nothing but defenseless women?"

He stood before Captain Parker first, hands behind his back, his face almost in the other man's face. "Captain?"

"Sir... I can only say how sorry--"

"--I'm not interested in your worthless apology, Captain. I'm interested in knowing why you failed to follow my orders." He pitched his voice with deliberate softness, speaking slowly, still almost friendly. He turned to the subordinate officer. "Lieutenant? Do you have anything to add here to this discussion? Care to explain to me how you failed...to detect...two large, burly men enter the woman's dormitory?"

"Sir... I..." the Lieutenant swallowed hard, perspiration running down his face. "Was...indisposed."

"Indisposed?" He narrowed his eyes. "How?"

"I was in the restroom, Sir."

"Ah. And you, Captain? Were you both...indisposed at the same time?"

"No, Reichsmarschall. I was...in the viewing room."

"The viewing room," he deadpanned. "I see. And were you stationed in the viewing room?"

"No Sir."

"Where were you stationed?"

"Outside, Sir."

"Captain...correct me if I'm wrong. But that would seem to indicate you abandoned your post."

"I--thought I could watch over her better, Sir, from the viewing room."

"So you countermanded my orders?"

"Sir, I--"

"--You decided you knew best. And as a result, you failed to protect a particularly old and dear friend of mine."

"No, Sir, I--"

"--No?"

"That is--I..."

"—I placed my trust in you, Captain. And your negligence almost cost her life, do you realize that?"

"I never intended--"

"--Of course you didn't. But there was something else you clearly had no intention to do, and that was to follow my direct orders. Knowing that you were given an important assignment to guard the well-being of a VIP guest that your commanding officer had specifically trusted into your care. Furthermore, when I ask you a direct question you lie to me, straight into my face."

"Reichsmarschall, I am not lying."

"Oh? Then do you want to explain to me how when you saw--in the viewing room--two armed men rush into Miss Buckingham's apartment, it took you so long to respond that they made it halfway to the door with her before you intercepted, despite the struggle she personally undertook with them in the corridor?"

"--It-it all happened so fast, Sir."

"What were you doing in the viewing room, Captain Parker?" He drew in closer to the man's face. Better to see his every twitch.

"I-I-I w-w-was w-watching..."

"Watching what?"

"There was a lady, Sir," he proceeded in a tight voice. "In her apartment." His eyes closed. "Undressing."

"And you were enjoying the show, were you?"

"Sir, I--"

"Major," he said, not taking his eye off Captain Parker. "Ensure that the former captain finds his way into the detention area."

"Yes Sir," Metzger said, summoning the two guards on duty.

"No. N-no Sir. P-please! Don't send me to re-education!"

"Ohhh no. I'm not going to send you to re-education, Parker. That is for crimes against the state. You have committed a crime against _me_. And I handle that.. _.very_ differently."

"Sir, I never meant--"

"That will be all, Parker." He said, turning away as the guards stepped forward and dragged Parker from his office.

"NO SIR! PLEEEEASE!"

He ignored this most undignified display and concentrated on his subordinate.

The lieutenant remained, shaking in every limb.

"If you are lying to me too, Lieutenant," he said softly. "It will be much better for you if you come clean now."

"S-sir, I...was in the restroom Sir."

John nodded, his voice infused with quiet menace. "I know. But you had not been at your post either, had you? Because not only did you fail to spot two armed men enter the building, you both failed to recognize me enter the building, also. Because when I entered, I didn't find either of you at your post--a full half hour before the perpetrators ever arrived at the scene. Restroom breaks don't last that long."

"I-I was also in the viewing room, Sir."

"Watching the show?" He nodded.

The lieutenant nodded. Closing his eyes in pain.

"Must have been a good one. Because then you had to...take yourself to the restroom to relieve yourself, didn't you? Of the strain it put you under?"

"Yes Sir!" the young lieutenant began weeping.

"Major," John said, stepping away, "the former lieutenant also will be visiting the detention area. Would you please arrange for his escort?"

"Sir!"

"I'm SORRY! REICHSMARSCHALL! PLEASE SIR I--"

He turned away from the weeping former officer in disgust, breathing hard against the rage rising in him.

"What are your orders regarding the two new prisoners, Reichsmarschall?" Metzger inquired when the man had been frogmarched away.

He sat down heavily at his desk. His cigarette long ago burned itself out, as well. John vibrated in every limb with the need to do violence to both of them himself.

He considered. "Failing to follow orders is a serious offense, Major. One we can ill afford. In this case, their incompetence nearly cost the life of an innocent woman--a VIP and new citizen of the Reich. Strip them, put them in chains, and flog them before the rest of the men. Make an example of them. Flog the hide off their backs, so that all understand the consequences of dereliction of duty. Ensure the men know that this kind of--mercy--will not be extended to them should they also fail in their duty. Then hang them up in chains in the detention cells and throw away the key. We'll see tomorrow where we go from there."

"Yes, Reichsmarschall!"

He was growing soft, he decided. He should have them both put to an extremely public and agonizing death. The trouble was, he had no official reason to do it, and he would have to explain yet another thing to Berlin he did not wish to expound upon surrounding Victoria. But this--this would fall nicely under the heading of in-house discipline, the kind of which Himmler saw as needful and would doubtless not even need to be notified of.

It was far less satisfying, but it would have to do for now.

* * *

Waking up with John's kiss on her lips was divinely lovely. It made finding herself in this strange place so much better. Victoria wished he could spend the day with her, but of course, he had work to do. And then they would have the whole of the weekend to spend together.

She showered, styled her new hair, applied her cosmetics and dressed herself in her serviceable blue dress that she had packed for today and stood before the mirror in her wardrobe, looking herself over with a critical eye.

The sleeveless dress was simply cut, but in a color much to her liking. And the fitted bodice and flared hem were more familiar to her, even if the hemline still ended shockingly above her knees. Her blue pumps matched perfectly, as did her white bolero jacket from the night before, and the red of her lipstick and nails coordinated extremely well indeed.

She was just spritzing herself with perfume when the elevator door chimed, and Bridget alighted. The girl greeted her with perfunctory cordiality as she immediately made her way to the kitchen area, and Victoria's impression about Bridget's affection for John immediately strengthened.

Of course, Bridget would have more than one reason to dislike Victoria and begrudge her presence here. Loyalty to John, perhaps even to his wife, would lead the girl to resent the presence of an interloper, particularly one here under such suspicious circumstances. Victoria supposed she could not blame her for her feelings.

The daylight changed the look of John's home completely. Gone was the intimate setting of the night before, and the windows, with their expansive view of the cityscape, dominated the room. They were so high above the world here that she felt herself almost floating in the clouds.

She crossed to the sitting room and stood near the window, gazing out across the city. Prominently facing John's apartment from several blocks away towered the GNR headquarters—equally tall and noticeable by its long red banner and swastika symbol.

She wasn't entirely sure why, but the symbol seemed ominous to her. Like something unpleasant one avoided stepping into or coming into contact with if at all possible. It positively sent a shiver down her spine. And it was everywhere. Throughout the apartment she stood in, and the world she now inhabited.

Surely, her fancy was probably getting the best of her. Perhaps it was because of her immigration experience yesterday. Perhaps the knowledge that she could not speak freely with anyone but John, and even then in carefully controlled spaces, preyed on her imagination. Perhaps it was merely the unfamiliarity of this entire future world that overwhelmed her suddenly. Or simply the fact that a pair of nefarious persons had tried to abduct her last night.

But whatever the reason, the swastika seemed to embody all of her discomfort and unease, carrying with it a sense of dread that she sensed, but did not entirely understand.

"Did you sleep well?"

She came to herself and turned to face Bridget.

"Yes I believe I did. Thank you."

"I'm sorry to hear about your ordeal," she continued. "You must have been terrified."

"Yes," she replied. "It was terrifying."

"Good thing the Reichsmarschall was there to save you."

Victoria caught the acid in her voice, the insinuation.

"He very kindly took care of the situation."

"Yes. He is very kind, isn't he? Much kinder than he should be sometimes." Bridget smiled, but the suspicion and the dislike did not leave her eyes. "Would you care for some breakfast?"

"Yes. Thank you," Victoria said, and gave the girl a list of breakfast items she would prefer. Then she perched on the edge of the settee, examining the bookshelf. Helping herself, she crossed to the selection and pulled down a book of German fairy stories. But she found she could not get into it and quickly set it aside.

When Bridget informed her breakfast was ready, Victoria removed herself to the dining room to eat. Alone. And in utter silence. Bridget had returned to the kitchen, now rattling pots and pans around with entirely more noise than was necessary. That the maid had feelings for her employer, Victoria now had no doubt. Clearly, she viewed Victoria as an interloper at best, a rival at worst.

It was not as if she were accustomed to conversation with servants, but when the servant in question was the only other soul about, it rather made her more isolated. More an outsider, an intruder then ever.

After breakfast, she did thank Bridget for a wonderful meal and brought her the dishes in an attempt to melt the ice between them. It had no effect whatever. The girl took her plate and cutlery with barely a word, flashing Victoria a petulant look on the way by. Annoyed with her bad manners, Victoria left her to her own devices and decided to explore John's apartment.

The decor was interesting. Far more designed for comfort than the furniture of her own time, but still managed to look stylish. But despite all the gilding and lavish details, there was something cold and forbidding about it all that she could not place. But then, perhaps she was too much a product of the past.

Much of the artwork and decorations were suggestive of emblems and symbols of national pride, the swastika prominent among them. But mixed here and there were family photos as well.

Victoria couldn't help herself. She examined every one. Mrs. Smith truly was a stunning beauty, and her throat tightened even more than yesterday as she forced herself to look at John's wife. Their children too, were beautiful. Here and there, heartbreaking photos of their eldest child, Thomas, smiled out at her. He had such a gentle smile.

She found tears spring to her eyes. She could not even imagine the depth of his parents' grief. Why on earth had she had left him, Victoria wondered? She could imagine no provocation in the world that would prompt her to do so.

Other framed odds and ends decorated the walls. Mementos of what appeared to have been John's military career. Medals. Certificates. First, American. And then, American Reich.

Through the entry way was a series of doors, many of which were locked. The door across the hall was his bedroom, she knew. Probably the one that he and his wife had shared together. She swallowed hard, the taste of jealousy bitter in her mouth. What would it be like to curl up next to him every night and sleep? To lie safe and secure in the circle of his loving arms? To simply reach out for him, for his love...oh, to take him inside of herself, to know he was hers, and she his. To have a family together...

She shook herself. Such thoughts did not help. She would not torture herself by visiting his room. It was not her place to pry in any case. She turned away and headed for her own room instead, seeking a bit of solitude, and a space devoid of so many windows where she might have time to herself simply to think. She did open the heavy drapes, but left the sheers closed. Light flooded in, but still she felt a welcomed seclusion.

Was this really only her third day in the future? Had she only met John Smith two days ago?

It was extraordinary, how remarkably like Lord M he was--beyond only his appearance. And yet, he was not Lord M.

But his lips upon hers...his hands...his arms around her!

She closed her eyes, remembering their dancing. The lively way he had slung her around the floor, their easy laughter together as they improvised steps and moves. Never before had she experienced a dance that was so--free.

The dances of her own time, while elegant, were also decidedly formal. One wrong step would be scrutinized by the whole room, and therefore one never quite relaxed on the dance floor, unless one knew the steps quite backwards and forwards, and had absolute faith in one's partner.

But these future dances seemed to be far more forgiving, and as a result, far more diverting.

She smiled, imagining Lord M dancing the same way with her. The thought made her giggle. For a moment, she let her imagination run wild, envisioning herself talking Lord M into a swing, on a wide balcony perhaps. How he would smile at her as he twirled her under his arm, or spooled her up against his body--the simmering heat in the deep green of his eyes sending her blood racing through her veins...

She opened her eyes with a gasp, and a twinge of pain.

She would never dance with Lord M again.

Victoria stood abruptly, strolling to her window, looking down on the world beneath her. Deliberately, she returned her thoughts to John Smith, and the memory of his smile and his laugh helped to banish her pain. Oh, how he'd pulled her into his arms, holding her close, singing softly in her ear...his voice both rough and tender, like the man himself...

And then his lips on hers, sighing into her kiss, his big hands spread on her back, pressing her against him until she perceived the hard ridge of his arousal against her belly as he deepened the kiss...

She bit her lip, her cheeks reddening. Oh, the wickedness of her thoughts!

But she more than desired John. She had feelings for him. Real, true, proper feelings, powerful far beyond attraction. They shared a connection that was undeniable.

But how much of what she felt for John was for John, and how much was for Lord M?

There was no escaping the fact that when she looked at him, she saw her darling Lord M--albeit a darker, more intense version of him. So alike that the two men might have been twins. But was it his looks alone that Victoria had been drawn to?

Truly, she loved that face, not only because it was handsome, but because it was his face. Even his voice, though his accent was foreign, still retained its soft, sultry masculine tones that she so adored. Physically speaking, merely looking at John Smith made her feel as though she had her Lord M back again. As though he had not died at all, only come away to live in this foreign place and wear strange clothes.

So did that mean that her feelings for John were entirely due to his likeness to Lord M?

She supposed it was only natural that her feelings for Lord M would carry over to John, given the circumstances. But she rather thought it was more than that. After all, he had done so much for her in so short a time, how could she not trust him? How could she not be...drawn to him? Some feelings for him would only be natural, surely?

She remembered again the sight of him stepping from the shadows, his face carved in marble, a gun in his hand.

Already her benefactor and friend, he was also her defender. And now here she was in his own home. It was scandalous to be sure. How much risk he had taken on her behalf! How could she not have feelings for him that were independent, and his alone?

Still. There was something of Lord M in John's actions, as well. Moments where she had looked at John and could have sworn it was more than just his physical resemblance that triggered a response in herself. Or perhaps she had grown so used to her husband's indifference that any kindness shown to her by a man felt somehow special.

Was she perhaps reading more into John's charity than was warranted? Or perhaps he was just a kindly man in his own right, and the comparison was coincidental?

But then, he had kissed her with such passion. And in those kisses and caresses, had she not felt again a trace of the man she had known and loved so well? Or perhaps he was merely a lonely man who found her attractive, and obviously quite willing to step into the breach his wife had left.

No. It could not be. There was more to it than that--for both of them. She could not mistake such a thing, she was sure she could not.

But for her own part, how much of her feelings for the man she'd once known had gotten tangled up in John Smith? Despite her best efforts to separate them one from the other, she knew to some degree it was the case. And the more she attempted to unravel it, the more knotted and incomprehensible the mess became.

It was so easy to forget he was not the same man...so easy to simply fall into his luminous eyes, to see--or to imagine she saw--Lord M looking back at her. It was so easy to allow his strong arms to hold her--to feel this world and all its dangers and strangeness fall away, to lose herself in the feeling of his hands in her hair, his whispered words of comfort--until the two men blended in her mind, and she could not tell one from the other.

Were such feelings disloyal to her Lord Melbourne? To her memory of him? The notion struck her, lodged in her heart like a thorn.

She was very much afraid that it was disloyal. And utterly unfair to John.

She returned to her bedside, retrieved his pocket-watch, cradling it lovingly in her hands until her tear dropped onto the face of it. She blinked them back, wiped the surface carefully, and brought it to her lips.

"Oh my love," she said to it. "Forgive me for wishing that he was you. I miss you so."

She lay her cheek against the watch, more hopeless and desolate than she had been since coming to this strange future world.

What on earth was she going to do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There. I hope everyone made it to the end of the chapter okay? This was a cold water moment, I know. But really, I don't see John responding any different way. 
> 
> I, in turn, am braced for your comments! I know you have them...


	16. Hexagram 61

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John welcomes Trade Minister Tagomi from the Japanese Pacific States to his office, but the meeting does not exactly go the way he expects.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Well, when one's lost, I suppose it's good advice to stay where you are until someone finds you.”  
> ― Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

**Chapter 16—Hexagram 61**

John ate his lunch at his desk, spending the afternoon pouring over some additional reports Metzger had provided concerning Victoria's attackers. They were US Army--used their real names and everything. John shook his head. They weren't even clever enough to come up with aliases. Already, he had dispatched operatives to their workplaces to gather whatever intelligence they could. With any luck, they'd eventually come across someone who could be bribed or intimidated into giving up information which would lead him straight to Wyatt Price himself.

The afternoon passed quickly enough as he devoted his attention to this and other Reich business, until it was time for his one appointment of the day. The last thing he had to settle before being able to go home to Victoria, where he would pack her little things, bundle her up and toss her into the car. They'd be at the lake before midnight.

He could hardly wait.

His phone buzzed, startling him out of his daydream.

"Reichsmarschall, Trade Minister Tagomi of the Japanese Pacific States is here to see you."

"Show him in." At last. Hopefully this would be brief.

John looked up at Metzger, and the figure standing behind him in the shadow of the doorway, fedora pulled low over his brow, flanked on both sides by his own men.

"Please. Show him in."

Tagomi entered his office, head bowed in deference, as he gestured to his escorts to wait for him outside. The last time John had met with the Trade Minister, it had been in secret, at a former residence of Hawthorne and Caroline Abendsen in the Neutral Zone, just before _Jahr Null._ The minister had given him the name of fifteen Nazi defectors living in the Pacific States in exchange for the Reich's honoring their oil treaties with Japan. But that had not been all that Tagomi had come to give him. Subtly woven into the fabric of their meeting was the information that the Japanese knew about _Die Nebenwelt_. Himmler had considered the revelation enough of a threat to order that the oil pipelines remain open in Texas, to give the Japanese whatever they wanted to keep them happy and far away from the Nazi's portal into other worlds.

John studied the older gentlemen now with curiosity. Nazi oil had been flowing as agreed to the Japanese. But as he had already learned, there was more to the Trade Minister than met the eyes. And instinct told him there was more to this visit, too, than just oil.

In their previous meeting, Tagomi had also mentioned the film that John had recently delivered to Berlin, which had resulted in the toppling of Heusman's treasonous conspiracy and placed Himmler in power in his stead. Tagomi apparently had himself given the film to Chief Inspector Kido of the Kempatai to pass to John--a film of a hydrogen bomb test in the Bikini Atoll islands, well inside the Imperial Japanese-controlled territory. Only the belief that their greatest rival had developed superior firepower had given Berlin second thoughts about launching an offensive against the Empire of Japan massive enough to wipe them from the planet. Thus, together, he and Tagomi had averted war. And no doubt millions of people now still lived as a result.

As John remembered the details now, Tagomi had told him at the time he'd been given the film by his dead son--in another world. In light of recent events in his own world, he found himself more curious than ever about this peace-loving gentleman, and just exactly how he'd managed to travel to this other world in the first place.

"Trade Minister," he said, affecting friendliness with his voice. "Welcome to New York! I trust you had a pleasant journey."

"Reichsmarschall," the older man greeted him with a traditional bow. "Thank you for agreeing to see me today."

"Not at all," he said, gesturing to a seat before his desk. "Please, won't you make yourself comfortable? Would you care to join me in a drink?" he asked easily as he crossed to his drinks cupboard.

"No. I thank you."

Tagomi sat slowly down in the chair John had indicated as he poured himself a brandy. He turned back around to face his guest, studying him over the rim of his glass as the Trade Minister removed his hat and set it in his lap with great dignity. He admired the man, he had to admit. There was something decidedly statesmanlike in his mannerisms, in his method of speaking.

"Now then," he said, resuming his own seat. "You must tell me what brings you to the Reich."

"His Imperial Highness, the Crown Prince of Japan has instructed me to relay his great thanks to the Reich for insuring that our oil treaties are honored fully."

John nodded his head deferentially. "Certainly," he said pleasantly enough. "The Fuhrer has assured me personally that you will have your oil as agreed, Trade Minister. If there is any interruption or problem, please do not hesitate to inform me."

"Of course," Tagomi offered him a slow bow. "I am certain there will be no problems."

"Good," he said, sitting back slightly and crossing one leg over the other, twirling his glass absently in his hand as he studied the man sitting opposite him. "But...surely, Trade Minister, you did not fly all the way across the continent just to tell me thank you," he said with affability, offering him a smile. "Much as I appreciate the gesture, I should think you might have saved yourself a trip and just told me that much on the phone." No. There was definitely more to this. John took a slow drink, never taking his eyes off Tagomi.

"You are correct Reichsmarschall," he said, with a nod of acknowledgment. "There is more. The Emperor has asked me to reopen negotiation for an increase in oil trade between our countries by ten percent, for which the Empire is prepared to pay handsomely."

"I see. Well, ten percent is quite a sizable increase, Trade Minister. The Reich might be--curious--to know what the oil was needed for?" He gazed hard at the man before him, searching his face for any signal he could read that might indicate Japan's motive. "I'm sure you can appreciate that we would not wish to augment any kind of--mobilization--which might threaten the security of the Reich."

"I can assure you there is no such intention. The oil is needed merely for internal, domestic reasons. Nothing more. You may be assured that Japan means to honor all treaties and agreements with the Reich, that we do not in any way plan to use the extra oil militarily, and that the Reich can only prosper by the increase in trade between our two nations."

"Of course," John smiled. "Well, I'm sure that the Fuhrer would welcome a discussion on the matter, certainly, and I would be more than happy to bring it to him for his consideration. But of course I cannot guarantee you any particular outcome. And you are no doubt aware that your answer will be somewhat delayed."

"Yes of course," Tagomi said. "I was saddened to learn of the unfortunate incident. I wish to offer your Fuhrer my best wishes for his quick and complete recovery."

"Thank you." John nodded gravely. "But this...increase. You must have an urgent need," he continued, arching an eyebrow at his visitor, "to send you across the country at only a week's notice, especially in light of the Fuhrer's condition."

Tagomi swallowed, and John perceived the first crack in his adversary's cool facade. He had touched a nerve. Good. Now maybe he would find out what this was really about.

"The Empire's need for oil is urgent, yes." He said softly. "And I am here on behalf of my government, as requested. But that is not my only purpose in coming."

"Really?" John said, sitting forward again, keeping his eyes on Tagomi. "By all means. If you have another trade proposition, I'm all ears."

"My other reason for coming here was to speak with you, Reichsmarschall, on a matter that touches you far more personally."

Both his eyebrows shot up at this, and he huffed a laugh. "Personally? In what way?" His voice did not betray his alarm, nor did it invite his guest to continue. But what little of Tagomi that John knew told him the man was persistent. If he had a message of some kind for him, he was going to deliver it. Whether the recipient was hostile or not.

The Trade Minister sighed. "Please allow me to explain. I am a devoted follower of the I Ching philosophy. The I Ching has guided me many years, always in the right direction. I know little of your culture, but I do believe the chances are great you are perhaps unfamiliar with such a belief."

"You would be correct," John said unflinching, but feeling for some reason the hairs standing up on the back of his neck. "Go on, Trade Minister."

"One week ago, as I prepared to consult the I Ching, I found my thoughts returning to our last meeting. I know little of you, Reichsmarschall. But as I have mentioned to you before, you and I share similar experiences. I have lost a son, as have you, in service to his country. I too have lost a wife, and even though your wife still lives where mine does not, I still believe in some ways the experience to be comparable. Though you and I are notably different, the grief we live with every day is a bond we share. It is through such bonds that you and I can build bridges of understanding between our different worlds. We begin to understand not only our differences, but the ways in which we are the same. Such enlightenment can only strengthen the peaceful relations our cultures enjoy, and lead us both to greater mutual prosperity."

John suppressed his annoyance. Though he was affronted by the Trade Minister's assumptions, and the mention of his personal life, he understood what he was getting at. And, as it suited Himmler to keep the Japanese happy for the time being, it was a simple enough matter to listen to what the man had to say. Besides. He had to admit his curiosity was peaked. Where could this possibly be leading?

"True enough," he said blithely. "Please--continue."

"Knowing that we were to meet today, I had planned to consult the I Ching to ask for guidance in the deliverance of my message to you. But as my preparations continued, I felt most strongly that I should ask the I Ching a different question. Not one for myself. But for you."

John's eyebrows shot up again at this, and a shiver ran down his spine. He betrayed none of his alarm to the Trade Minister though, and merely nodded. The man was in no way threatening. But something in the dark eyes behind the large black-rimmed glasses was so startlingly intense that John almost wanted to run and hide.

"You asked a question for me," he repeated dryly, as if what Tagomi was telling him was not affecting him in the slightest. As if he wasn't doing everything he could not to squirm in his chair, or reach for a cigarette. Not to invent some emergency which would end this meeting.

"I did," his guest said unflinchingly. "And that is my other purpose here today, Reichsmarschall. To deliver a message that I believe is most urgent for you to hear."

John found himself breathing hard. He forced himself to relax, forced his face in to a mask of impenetrable calm. For reasons he could not delineate, something in the Trade Minister's words unsettled him. He did not want to hear what the man was going to say.

"Well. I appreciate your concern, Trade Minister, but I fear I am at a loss to understand how my personal life has any bearing on our trade agreements," he flashed him a condescending smile. "We all have our problems, like you say. But as you yourself have pointed out--we are vastly different in the way we go about handling those problems. I do not think your way is perhaps going to do me much good. But I thank you very respectfully for any trouble you went to on my account."

Tagomi took a deep breath and looked faintly displeased. "I realize what I am saying may be difficult for you. I do not know why the I Ching has responded to me the way that it has. I know only that the message will have deep significance for you--the way the I Ching has always had for me."

"Very well. Let's here this message then," He was starting to become hostile despite his best efforts to remain calm.

"There are sixty-four hexagrams in which the I Ching answers our questions. Each one carries a different message, with different layers of meaning. One week ago, I asked the I Ching for guidance for your steps, Reichsmarschall, as you traverse your path. The answer I received was Hexagram Sixty-One. In Chinese, it is called _zhóng fú_ , which means, 'inner truth.' I believe this is the message I am meant to give to you."

"Inner truth?" John swallowed hard. Why did he just feel as if someone had just walked over his grave? "That's it? What is that supposed to mean?"

"Hexagram Sixty-One refers to one's energy, returning to oneself. One's inner truth and one's central return mean enlightenment. It can also mean being at peace with yourself, in your chosen place and time."

John went very, very still. The Trade Minister's soft-spoken words ricocheted around his head.

_Returning to oneself...energy returning...peace in your chosen place and time..._

"There is some great truth that is central to you, Reichsmarschall, that you must pay attention to now. Somehow I felt the message must be delivered to you today. That is why I have come. But there is more. Last night, I did a second casting, asking the I Ching for more information--for I believed there was more you needed to hear. The second Hexagram was number Thirty-One. In Chinese, it is called _xián_ , which means 'conjoining'. Particularly it relates to a man's relationship with women."

John's vision was swimming. He blinked hard in an effort to clear it, suddenly hanging on the Trade Minister's words.

"There were changes in line four, of this second casting," Tagomi continued, "Which means that you should let your heart influence your steps. The two castings are connected. They are...intertwined. Your inner truth, and the conjoining. These are deep matters of the heart which must not be ignored. Only if you allow your heart to lead you, will it guide you to inner truth. To deeper understanding, and peace."

John stared at the Japanese Trade Minister in abject shock. All thought of composing his face was gone. He swallowed hard, shook his head. Tried to form words and failed. He wanted at once to send his visitor away--far away. And at the same time, he wanted to take him by the lapels and shake answers from him.

"I can see that my words do indeed have meaning to you," Tagomi said with a dignified nod of acknowledgment. "I can assure you, Reichsmarschall, as odd as this may seem to you, I do not know the personal implications of this message for you. But I have spent a lifetime studying the I Ching. It has always guided my steps, even in my darkest hours. If I have been of some small service to you, then I am gratified. It is my hope that this message might bring you guidance, hope, and peace."

John nodded, working to close his mouth and quit staring at Tagomi like a landed fish. "It is most...extraordinary, Trade Minister. I confess I'm at a loss for words." It was all he could manage.

Tagomi nodded, satisfied. "As I have remarked to you before, Reichsmarschall, I believe our two countries have great value for each other. You and I have achieved great peace together. We also have shared great personal loss. Such bonds are of no small significance. I hope that I have been helpful to you in some small way. I also hope that the Fuhrer will consider the Emperor's offer of increased trade between our nations. We are, of course, prepared to offer you terms which are most generous."

"I--I'm sure he will consider the matter most carefully."

Tagomi stood with great dignity, slowly and carefully arranging his hat upon his head. He looked at John another moment, and seemed to decide something. He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a card.

"If you would like to speak with me," he said, "About any matter at all, here is my number." With a bow, he presented it to John with both hands. "Call at any time."

"Thank you," he said, and was astonished to find he meant it. "Thank you for coming, Trade Minister. I wish you safe travels."

"And to you too, Reichsmarschall."

He made a little bow, and John again held out his hand, as he had done that rainy night in the Neutral Zone, in what felt like a long time ago now.

Tagomi looked at him, at his outstretched hand, and slowly extended his own.

* * *

Somewhere after luncheon, the newly-purchased contents of Victoria's erstwhile apartment arrived, as did a few additional items she was to have taken delivery of today, and she was again busy for a time, arranging her clothes and other articles into her room in John's apartment. Bridget had appeared when the articles arrived and then, with a narrow look at Victoria, took herself back into the kitchen without a word. It was sometime after that when the pianoforte arrived.

It took some time to arrive, because John--to her great delight--had ordered a baby grand. Though smaller and plainer than the ones she was accustomed to playing, being painted all in black and buffed to an almost liquid shine, it was still exceedingly beautiful. And once it had been assembled in the living area and tuned, she sat down again to play her scales, and sighed with deep delight.

At last! Something in this future world that was familiar to her!

He had thoughtfully included sheet music also, and she was happy to find many old favorite composers, including Beethoven, Schubert and Mozart. At this last inclusion she could but smile. And of course, the book of Mozart pieces is what she took to first.

Not like she really needed the sheet music, after all. But it was nice to have as a reference.

After a brief warm up, she turned to one of Lord M's favorites and began to play, soon losing herself in the music. She closed her eyes, feeling the notes flow from her fingers. Faster and faster she played, the notes climbing higher, more and more frantic, the way he had enjoyed it, and in her mind's eye she was back at the palace, in her music room, playing for a small audience. But there was only one who truly mattered.

She could see him smiling at her, jade green eyes alight in pleasure. So strong was the notion that she could feel his presence almost. And so she played for him, just as she used to. She played, and she played, and she poured her heart into the playing, until the tears rolled unchecked and forgotten down her cheeks. She played her love into the notes in dedication to the man she still loved beyond all others. He was the only man...the one true love of her heart. Her heart knew it, and she played to him, hoping wherever he was that he might hear it and be pleased...

The music wrapped around her, flowed through her. She lost herself in it, becoming music, existing only here, where she might open her eyes and see her Lord M's rapt gaze, his lips slightly parted, breathing hard as he fell into the music with her. And he was, he was there as she played, and her heart soared higher and higher, meeting his...

The notes crescendoed and then tapered off to a quiet ending as she slowed her playing, and the last few chords resonated, and died away.

* * *

Since his meeting with the Trade Minister, John's mind was in a whirl. After Tagomi left, he'd paused long enough to lock his desk and files with shaking hands, and leave.

_..."The two castings are connected. They are intertwined..."_

_..."You're entangled with her, John. Actions at a distance can still have impact one upon the other, without ever touching..."_

_..."These are deep matters of the heart which must not be ignored. Only if you allow your heart to lead you, will it guide you to inner truth...."_

His heart? Allow his heart to lead him? What the hell did that mean? It was all nonsense. Nonsense!

_..."Did you find that certain things just triggered in your mind?... Like fragments of half-remembered dreams... You care for her and you don't even know why, do you?..."_

_... "Hexagram Sixty-One. One's energy returning to oneself..."_

He shook his head as if to clear it.

_... "She sat alone in her room and reached out through all the universe for her other half and found you..."_

_..."I did not come willingly. Even knowingly! Therefore, how can I return?"..._

_..."They are intertwined..."_

_..."You're entangled with her, John...."_

_..."entangled...entangled..."_

He stepped out on the curb of his apartment building, absentmindedly thanking his driver as he raced in the door, running through the lobby, unaware of any and all around him.

_..."I shall never forget him! Not ever! You might as well ask me to forget myself!"..._

_..."She reached out through all the universe for her other half and found you..."_

_..."being at peace with yourself, in your chosen place and time...."_

He had no memory of crossing the lobby, of the officer on duty greeting him. No memory of stepping aboard his elevator.

Who was he? Was he John Smith? Was he Lord Melbourne? Was he both?

His head hurt, and he clutched at it with a groan. And then somewhere on the ride up, piano music floated down and found him...the tune was familiar, but it had been a long time since he'd heard it...

_..."Beautiful, Ma'am! Absolutely beautiful."_

_"Thank you, Lord M," she smiled with pleasure, her blue eyes alight with the afternoon sun. "I thought you might approve. Mozart is your favorite, after all."_

_"He is indeed, Ma'am." He smiled._

_"I am working my way through the concertos. This is Number One."_

_"I recognized it instantly."_

_"Well that is a mercy. At least my playing was not so offensive as to render the piece unrecognizable."_

_"No indeed. You play it remarkably well, and at tempo, too."_

_"Lehzen always believes I play too quickly," she sighed. "But I do not see the point of slowing down an allegro."_

_"Nor do I, Ma'am. It is meant to dance through one's ears, and you have made it do so."_

_"Good. For if you are pleased, that is all that matters to me. Your opinion is the only one I care for, after all."_

_He swallowed hard as a lump formed in his throat. "Surely that is not true, entirely." He said it in a teasing tone, mostly to mask how profoundly moved he was by her words. "I believe the Russian Grand Duke is fond of the pianoforte. Perhaps you should play for him sometime."_

_She sighed. "I do not wish to play for him. Oh, he is pleasant enough I suppose but..." she shrugged._

_"But...?" he could not stop himself asking._

_"He is certainly not like you, Lord M." She favored him with a bright smile._

_"What, you mean he's not old, cantankerous and set in his ways?" he huffed a laugh._

_"No, indeed!" she giggled girlishly, her hand rising to her mouth to cover her smile. "And neither are you! For shame for you to tease me so!"_

_He shrugged, more pleased than he had any right to be at this affirmation of her affections. Pleased more than he had any right to be about her affection to begin with, for he understood it could all come to nothing._

_"I do not think you give him enough of a chance to improve your opinion," he said, scratching his eyebrow with the tip of his finger, manfully attempting to steer her back in the younger man's direction. "Despite the liberties he took on the dance floor, and the obvious fact he is foreign, I think you might do very well together."_

_She turned the full power of her brilliant blue eyes on him then. "Why do you always do this, Lord M?"_

_"Do what, Ma'am?"_

_"You speak to me endlessly about Grand Dukes, princes and my cousin George. Surely you are aware that I have no feelings for them whatsoever."_

_"No, surely I am not aware of it," he said, swallowing hard, dropping his gaze from hers, trying hard to still the frantic beating of his own heart as he gazed at his hands. "I am after all, your Prime Minister, Ma'am. It is my duty to--"_

_"--Oh, posh! I am sick of duty! A pox on duty, Lord Melbourne. You are also my friend!"_

_He nodded, again, far more moved than he dare to admit to himself._

_"And I am very grateful for it, Your Majesty. But I would be derelict if I allowed myself to forget what I owed to you. To the country, Ma'am. I speak only as I believe I must about such things."_

_"But why can we not just simply be as we are?"_

_Her eyes were clouded with frustration and something else he hardly dared acknowledge. He smiled at her through the painful squeezing of his heart._

_"Because you will not always wish to be shackled to your crusty old Prime Minister, Ma'am," he forced a smile to his lips. "Someday you will wish for a husband of your own. And children. To say nothing of the fact that the country needs an heir. Therefore, you must think of the future. No matter how unpleasant it may be to you in the present."_

_She shook her head stubbornly. "I would not mind it, you know," she said softly._

_"Mind what, Ma'am?" He did not want to hear what he knew she would say, and yet, he was longing to hear it at the same time._

_"Being shackled with you for always," she whispered, meeting his eyes. "I enjoy your company far over everyone else's. I cannot foresee a time when that will ever change."_

_His heart melted in his chest. He felt the tears threaten his eyes, and he blinked hard to clear his vision._

_"But you must consider... I may not always be here, Ma'am," he whispered._

_"Do not speak to me like that! I forbid it!" Her tone rose in indignation and fear._

_He knew from where the emotion flowed, and he was moved beyond words for a moment._

_"It would never be my wish to leave you, Ma'am. You must know that. When the day arrives, it will not have been of my choosing."_

_"I forbid that as well," she said, tears coming to her eyes. "I positively forbid you from ever leaving me for any reason, Lord M! I cannot do without you. What should I ever do?"_

_"Go on, Ma'am. The way you must. The way we all must when we lose someone we...care for," he could not bring himself to say the word. "You will go on. And you will do so with your indomitable spirit, Ma'am, and make of yourself the most brilliant queen this country has ever known."_

_She smiled, and dabbed at her eyes. "I do not like to think of such a day."_

_"Neither do I, Ma'am, believe me. But again, we cannot merely pretend the future does not exist, because it is unpleasant to talk about in the present. We must plan for those days, for that is our duty--yours especially."_

_"Well. In that case, unpleasant as it may be to_ you, _Lord Melbourne, I command you to plan to be here for many long years to come. As you speak to me about my duty, I shall charge you with yours. Your queen has no need of suitors, but she has prodigiously great need of you, and expects you at her side for as long as she can get you."_

_He huffed a laugh._

_"You flatter me, Ma'am. Have I not warned you about my ego before?"_

_She smiled. "You have, and I have resolved to take no heed of your warnings whatsoever, and aim to flatter you more than ever."_

_He met her eyes, saw the mirth swimming in them._

_They sputtered with combined laughter._

_"Well then," he said at last, "Best prepare yourself for my ego to become impossible, Ma'am. I have no doubt eventually you will banish me from your presence because it has become quite insufferable, and when it does, it shall be your own fault for feeding it so shamefully."_

_"I would never banish you from my presence, Lord M, did your ego overcrowd the entire room. It will be for others to make way for you instead."_

_"In very short order, they may need to do so," he smiled._

_She returned his smile. "Nothing would please me more. Now then. Shall you have another concert?"_

_"If you are willing to give me one, I am more than willing to accept, Ma'am..."_

... John Smith walked slowly through his own foyer, compelled by the music trilling and rolling through him. Music so familiar he could almost close his eyes and see himself back in that music room on a sunny afternoon, as his queen sat in a charming dress of plaid with puffed sleeves, bent over a golden instrument, her hands moving rapidly along the keys. Her eyes were closed, not even needing the music before her on the piano as the afternoon light streamed in and bathed her in a golden glow.

And now she was here, seated behind a smaller grand finished in black lacquer, playing as if possessed.

His breath was coming fast as the double vision he'd been experiencing since she'd first appeared in his life began to coalesce. Her eyes were closed again, the tears on her cheeks shining in the afternoon light.

She played for him. He knew she did. His tears rolled down his own cheeks unchecked. Unnoticed.

_..."You're entangled..."_

_..."Intertwined..."_

_..."We are bound together in spirit in a way that is beyond their reach...our hearts are entwined. Not in a thousand lifetimes could anyone come between what we are to each other. What you are to me...."_

_..."I feel safer when you're near, John..."_

_...You will stay tonight, at the palace? I feel safer, just knowing you are there..."_

_..."What I wouldn't give to do it all over again. Should I ever get the opportunity, I should not waste one second that I could be loving you..."_

_..."As you speak to me about my duty, I shall charge you with yours... I forbid you from ever leaving me for any reason! I cannot do without you..."_

_..."These are deep matters of the heart which must not be ignored. Only if you allow your heart to lead you, will it guide you to inner truth..._ _"_

_..."Remember this day. Remember that I love you. That not a force on earth can stop my loving you.."_

_..."Remember me. Remember..."_

_..."Remember..."_

Her hands stilled on the keys, and the notes died away as slowly she opened her eyes to him.

"Your Majesty." He whispered.

She gasped. Looked at him hard. Her hand, rising of its own accord, clasped her throat.

He moved towards her on unsteady legs, shaking in every limb. Her eyes remained fixed on him, impossibly wide and deep as the sea. She held him captive in her gaze as ever she did, drawing him to her side.

Slowly she rose to her feet, her eyes never leaving his.

As he reached her, all the air left his lungs in a rush. He swallowed hard.

At last. At long last.

He had waited two lifetimes for this.

"Lord M," she breathed. "Oh, it is you! Oh, my love...it really _is_ you!"


	17. Night Moves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With his revelations still spinning in his head, John and Victoria are finally alone.
> 
> *NSFW. Repeat--NSFW. STRONG HEAT ADVISORY. Adults only. Read with caution.*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "But it's no use now," thought poor Alice, "to pretend to be TWO people! Why, there's hardly enough of me left to make one respectable person!"  
> \--Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

**Chapter 17—Night Moves**

Once Bridget had been dismissed for the night and the elevator locked behind her, they were again alone. His. She was finally his for the whole weekend.

"Victoria," he came to her again, whispering her name in adoration as he leaned into her and crushed his mouth to hers. At last! Oh, at last.

Her little hands slid up his chest and over his shoulders as she sobbed against him, cupping his face delicately, drawing him unresisting to her. And in her honey-sweet kiss there was truth. Peace. Wholeness.

"I don't know how...or why..." he gasped, leaning his head against hers, needing her touch. Her caress. The healing only she could give him.

"Shh.... It does not matter," she whispered softly. "The how's and why's do not matter at all. You are here, and I am here. It is all that matters to me in the world." She stroked his face with her soft little fingers, wiping his tears away. "You have come back to me. Oh, my darling man...how lost I have been without you."

"And I, without you," he rasped. "You have brought me back to myself." He took her dear face between his hands, brushing away her tears with his thumbs. "My forever love."

Her lips brushed his again and he ignited. Incinerated. And in the ashes, there was nothing but surrender.

* * *

As his arms enfolded her, Victoria lost herself in his kiss. Oh, she'd known, she'd known it was him! No one else touched her this way. No one else ever could. Why had she ever doubted what her heart had known from the very beginning?

And now, now everything fell into place. This was why she found herself here, in this strange future time and place. Why she had landed in his office. Why they could not stay away from one another. All her confusion, her feelings for both men were finally explained. It was as if, somehow, he had called to her from this distant place and time, and she had responded.

And now here they were--safe and alone and together. Beyond the reach of them all. Albert. Mama. Uncle Leopold. The Privy Council and all the others. All the expectations of her rank, all her burdensome duties discharged at last, shucked off like chains until she found herself once again in the one place she always wanted to be--in his arms.

"Victoria!" he broke away, overcome.

"I am here," she whispered. "I am here, My Love."

He buried his face in her shoulder, and they held each other, weeping.

"I don't understand...any of it," he cried. "How...oh, Victoria, how is this possible?! It doesn't make any sense!"

"Shhh...my love... It is not important that we understand everything. It is only important that we accept the truth for what it is. And that we make use of the time that is given to us. For who knows when I may be snatched away again?" She sought his eyes, glassy and brilliant as emeralds as she caressed his beloved face with her hands. "All that matters to me is that we are together. Oh, my darling man...what I have suffered in your absence!"

He leaned his head against hers, eyes closing as a sob escaped him. "I never wished to leave you!"

"I know. I know my love!"

He shook his head. "There is so much. So much is swirling around in my head right now I feel like I'm in hurricane. So much I want to ask. So much I want to tell you."

"All in due course," she whispered. "Do not distress yourself with everything now. We will wait until you are ready. But first...my darling, there is something I need far more. And something I want to give to you. For I know you need it too."

She took his hands in hers, seeking his eyes with hers as she stepped into him.

"Victoria... I'm a mess right now. It wouldn't be fair..."

"It would be entirely fair," she countered. "Come here, and let us comfort one another. For I need you, and I know you need me too."

With a cry his lips fell on hers like a storm as he pulled her into his arms.

Instantly her body was on fire.

All the lost years, all the aching hunger for the man she loved above all others poured out into her kiss as she met him in kind, and they kissed and kissed each other in total surrender. There would be no more prevarication. Her need for him was bottomless, whipped into a frenzy as she tasted the same in him. Oh yes, they would come together now. Nothing and no one would stand in their way.

She felt herself go weightless as he hoisted her into his arms, carried her into her bedroom and slammed the door behind them with a well-placed kick.

He set her down gently, his lips never leaving hers, as two pairs of hands frantically pulled at buttons and zippers, yanking and shoving, tearing them off one another, throwing them across the room. She needed his skin on hers.

_Now._

With a cry that was animal she threw herself backwards on the bed, mostly naked, grabbing him by his braces and pulling him down on top of her.

"You are still far too dressed," she whined against his mouth. "But I like these."

“They do have their uses,” he chuckled against her lips. "Patience, my love," he whispered.

"No! I have none! I need you. Oh, I need you _now!_ "

Her hands tugged at the buttons of his shirt, as he divested himself of his suspenders and boots, tugging also the shirttail from the waist of his trousers. Victoria was breathless, beside herself with anticipation. She wanted to see every inch of his skin. To explore him with her hands, her kisses. To feel his magnificent body touching hers all over, to wrap herself around him and never let him go.

His strong arms and shoulders flexed beneath the crisp white shirt as at last he had unfastened the final button and threw it off his shoulders. She cried out when he covered her again, skin to skin for the first time ever, bringing his muscled torso to her eager hands, her hungry lips.

"My darling, my darling!" she nuzzled against his neck, placing a series of hungry little kisses along his warm, strong jaw, fingertips trailing lightly over his body, then clasping him eagerly, pulling him closer, closer. His skin was so warm and he was so wonderfully male, she could not get close enough...could not possibly ever love him enough.

"Do I take it I please you then?" He sought her eyes with his, amusement and happiness lighting in them.

"You know you do," she whispered, hands trembling as she laid them against him, fluttering like nervous birds to the waist of his trousers. He captured them in one of his own and guided them exactly where she wanted to go, his eyes burning into hers, relinquishing his hold as she found the zipper.

She unfastened the button, drew the metal clasp down, and at once her hands were entirely full of him.

He sucked in a ragged breath, his eyes fluttering closed, a moan escaping his parted lips as his head fell back at her touch.

"Ohhhhh...." he whispered, his hips rocking gently against her hands. "Oh, yessss! Victoria! How many years I have dreamed of having you hold me in your pretty little hands!"

How many years she had dreamed of the same! She bit her lip, both hands roving over him appreciatively. He was big in length as well as girth. Gently she slid her hands over him. He was hard as iron beneath the hot velvet of his skin, and he groaned and shuddered all over, eyes closed, lips parted on a sigh, his expression one of rapture as she explored his body, reaching below his length to gently cup and stroke the heavy sac beneath.

Suddenly, with the grace of a panther he pounced on her, knocking her back into the bed, covering her with a growl, eyes burning into hers, lips diving for hers as he positioned himself between her legs.

"Johnn, oh Johnn!!" She wriggled beneath him as he teased her with his length, sliding himself between her legs slowly, making her feel every inch of him.

"You're so wet for me..." he growled in her ear. "Oh God Victoria, what you do to me..."

"Now!" she heard herself beg, "Please do not tease me anymore I cannot bear it! I need you inside me now! My darling! My Lord M! My love, oh my love! _Pleeeeease!!"_

"Don't you want to play first?" he purred, his eyes glowing with mischief as they found hers, then very slowly panned down to her breasts as he wet his lips. "Ohhh...how I have dreamed of these too." He cupped the nearest one in his warm, long-fingered grasp as he bent his dark head to her chest, pressing a sweet kiss to her nipple before laving across it with his tongue.

She cried out, threw her head back into the pillows, her hips rocking up, seeking, grinding against his.

"Noooo! Pleeeease! Inside me! I need you inside me now!"

His mouth found hers again for a searing kiss.

"Is that a royal command, Your Majesty?" he purred against her cheek.

"YEEEES!!!" She thrashed beneath him.

His eyes found hers again, and he gave her a smile that was pure sin, his hands sliding slowly down her bent knees to her thighs, spreading her before him.

She was heedless of the needy sounds she was making, all pretense of dignity gone. Here at last, they were stripped down to their essentials. They were man and woman. No rank. No silly rules at all. No other consideration but the desire that burned so hotly between them, and the love and absolute trust that fueled it.

His big hand splayed against her belly, pressing her into the bed, holding her still, making urgent little animal sounds of his own as he kissed his way down the tender flesh of her inner thigh from her knee, closer and closer to where she burned so hotly for him. She struggled against his hand, needing to move her body, needing to lift her hips into him. But she could not move him. His hold on her was inexorable.

She cried out as his lips left her leg and made their way softly, unhurriedly across her center, kissing her sweetly in her most secretive, sensitive place. He groaned when he reached it, nuzzling up and down, making her weep with frustration. He growled suddenly, and she felt his hot wet tongue touch her body.

“Wh—what are you doing?!”

He looked up her body at her in surprise, as if what he was doing was the most natural thing in the world.

“You mean he—” An expression like a thundercloud crossed his features, and then it dissipated, leaving a satyr-like grin as he slowly lowered himself to her again, holding her eyes captive in his as his tongue flicked out of his mouth and he laved it right across her most sensitive area.

She writhed beneath him, fighting the hard press of his hand against her torso as he purred against her body, tongue slipping out of his mouth to taste her again.

“Lie back,” he whispered, “and don’t struggle. Let me teach you what it feels like when a man pleasures the woman he loves.”

She was lost at his words, incoherent. Calling to him over and over, calling him by both names as again and again, his hot, wet tongue found the parts of her that burned for him the most.

She lost herself in his touch. Lost track of what he was doing to her. She felt his tongue, his lips, his teeth, all on her at different intervals, his free hand stroking her inner thigh before dancing towards her center, his long fingers sliding inside of her…

“Lord… _M!”_

He purred against her body, as if enjoying what he was doing at least as much as she was.

“My love…” he whispered against her. “Mmmm, you taste sooo good…Ma'am...”

Her body arched off the bed, both of her hands grabbing onto the one restraining her, grabbing his dark hair, pleasure arcing through her body like white-hot lightening.

"Moooore!" She heard herself wail. "Oh, mooore! Please don't ever stop that!"

Excited by her reaction he redoubled his efforts, his tongue lapping wetly against her body, his eyes closed as if in ecstasy himself as he moaned against her tender flesh.

He was so beautiful it made her heart weep to behold him, the strong lines of his beloved face, the dark twin fans of his thick lashes laid almost innocently against his cheeks…the broad expanse of his chiseled chest, strong shoulders…

It was too much. _He_ was too much! Another streak of lightening took her, higher and hotter than the first. And she threw her head back with a cry and arched into him again, hips bucking, body clenching. Still he did not stop, and another shuddered through her in the wake of the first, until she lay trembling in every limb, thoroughly and utterly spent.

* * *

He could not resist her.

That's what it boiled down to, ultimately. Try as he might, he could not resist. When his lips had ended him up in the soft thatch between her legs he was overcome by the perfume of her body, the softness of her skin, the sensual delight that was spread before him. He'd intended to cover her body in soft little kisses, kissing her here only once this time. But oh, he should have known one taste of her could never be enough.

The evidence of her desire sent lust lancing through his body. Her whole womanhood was coated in her sweet juices. It was running down her legs, covering her upper thighs. He moaned, and bent his head, lapping at her.

She squirmed and mewed helplessly, calling out both of his names, making him so damned hot, making his manhood throb and pulse with the need to plunge himself inside her and claim her once and for all. But not yet. Oh, not yet.

He took his time, dragging out her pleasure, teasing and lapping at her body with relish. Oh, at last, the taste of her filled his senses! He trailed his free hand over her sensitive areas, teasing here and there, before plunging two fingers into her body. Oh she was so damned wet! And tight, and perfect, and God help him he wanted her so badly he could hardly breathe.

He tamped down hard on his own feelings, his own needs. This was about her. God only knew when the last halfway-decent orgasm she’d ever had had been, or if Albert had ever brought her to climax at all--he was seriously beginning to wonder. And oh, how long? How long had he fantasized about being her lover? How long he’d ached for the privilege to share her bed, to be the man to bring her to one earth-shattering climax after another? So he listened carefully to every sound she made, listening to her body’s every reaction, learning what she liked, and what she did not, waiting to learn what drove her wild and plunged her over the edge.

He would find every place on her beautiful little body she liked him to touch, would learn exactly how she wanted him to touch her. He would stoke her fire higher and hotter, until her orgasms were cataclysmic and never-ending.

He would give her everything. Then, as she lay trembling and sighing and shuddering after his loving, he’d plunge himself balls-deep into her soaking wet, exquisitely sensitive body, and take her even higher.

Victoria cried out and clamped down on him suddenly, coming so beautifully hard for him. He fixed his mouth over her pleasure spot and went at her as if possessed, licking and nibbling and sucking, working her with his fingers until he was certain she'd had at least three good ones. Then slowly he began to ease off, his restraining hand caressing now. He soothed her with his mouth as well as his hands, kissing and petting, bringing her back softly to earth.

* * *

Victoria opened her eyes slowly, her breathing still labored. Distantly she saw her Lord M look up her body and meet her eyes, looking extremely pleased with himself.

"Good, was it?" He blinked his emerald eyes at her innocently. 

She groaned, too weak even to speak.

He crawled slowly up her body, purring like a contented tom cat. 

“I have waited so long to taste you like that,” he nuzzled her happily. “You are more delicious than I even imagined you would be.”

She reached up two fingers and placed them against his talented lips as if in wonder. He kissed them both.

“Did you enjoy it, Ma’am, truly?” He whispered in her ear.

“Yes,” she whispered breathlessly. “I didn’t know, that is, I have never—” she broke off, feeling her cheeks burn. “I was not aware that…Is such a practice…usual?”

“I imagine that’s a decision each pair of lovers makes for themselves,” he stroked her hair with a loving hand. “Most men derive great satisfaction from pleasuring their woman this way. I certainly do.”

“Did you—always enjoy such, do you think?”

“Yes,” he answered without hesitation. “Even as your Prime Minister. I know I used to dream of doing this with you.”

“I am so unspeakably jealous.”

He huffed a laugh. “Of whom?”

“All of them. All the women you have ever loved, have ever taken to your bed. In both lives. I am jealous of them all. I want to be all of them.”

“Would that you were,” he whispered. “Do not be jealous of them, Victoria. You are worth more to me than all of the others put together.” His green eyes landed on hers as he smiled deep into her eyes. “Don't you know by now that you are everything to me, Ma’am? You have been from the very beginning, the first time we met. And you will always be. Everything.”

She kissed him, melting into his kiss, sighing as his big body covered hers and pressed her down into the bed.

This is what she wanted. Him on top of her, his skin against her own, the fine hairs of his body tickling her wherever they touched. The magic of his spicy cologne filling her senses. His expression tender as he nuzzled her, eyes drunk with passion when they met hers. She wanted to wrap her body around him, to pull him inside and never release him.

“And you are mine,” she whispered, cradling his cheek, stroking his warm skin. “You are life itself, my darling.”

He kissed her, moaning into her as their kiss rapidly deepened and passion flared between them again. His lips trailed down her cheek, over her jaw, down her throat in a series of tiny, slow little kisses, his tongue flicking out to taste her every so often as he went. He kissed the fluttering of her pulse at the base of her throat, tasting, nuzzling, nibbling at her collarbone and still farther down.

She was hypnotized by the press of his soft lips against her skin, breathless, anticipating the wet heat of his tongue with every touch. His hands too, slid like magic over her skin. Oh, how hotly she burned to feel him inside of her!

Her hips rose against his, seeking, needing.

“Johnnn,” she breathed, her hands sliding into his hair as he paused over her breasts.

"Mmmm," he bent his head again, eyes closed, mouth open as his tongue licked and laved at her nipple.

She groaned again, watching him.

“Ohhhh John…Ohhh my Lord M…”

With a growl he rolled his head over and seized her breast into his mouth. Sucking hard.

“Ohhhh!” Her hands caressed his face, buried themselves in his hair, her hips rocking against him, and he obliged her by grinding himself against her pleasure, but still he did not enter her.

One hand cupped her other breast, pinching her nipple lightly between his finger and thumb and rolling it as he nibbled and licked and sucked the other.

She was lost. Lost again in pleasure as she held his head as if to contain him. And then his other hand that she had lost track of found its way between them and touched her swollen, sensitive nub.

“Oh my darling! My darling Lord M!"

He growled, mauling her breast lightly as his own pleasure increased.

Her entire body was on fire. Oh and it felt soo very good!

The air was filled with urgent little noises, most of which Victoria was astonished to realize came from her. But she didn’t care. Oh, God it was sooo good…HE was so good!

“Come to me,” his voice was guttural, husky, almost rough. “Just like this…” he held her eyes as he lapped at her breast.

She cried out, her body under siege, pinned beneath him, and it was glorious! Glorious!

It hit her like a thunderclap, exploding from deep inside her body, radiating outward like a tempest, and she screamed and bucked helplessly against him, his greedy, hungry sounds feeding it, making it harder and deeper until she lay spent and trembling again beneath him.

She lay gasping, but her lover was far from satisfied this time.

With a cry that was animal, his hands lifted her hips off the bed, pulling her up to him and sliding her down beneath him almost roughly.

"I'm not through with you yet," he growled darkly. "Come here to me, Victoria. I can’t wait any longer for you."

There was an urgency in him now that sent a spike of white-hot lust blazing through her body, even weakened as she was, and as he positioned himself between her legs she panted with anticipation.

“Oh yes, yes! _YES!”_

Though her limbs felt as if they'd been filled with lead, she cried out to feel him at her entrance. Whispering encouragements, her own breathing ragged, she reached for him with trembling arms.

“I love you,” he whispered hotly. “Then and now. Never doubt that you own me, Your Majesty. Body and soul, I am yours.”

With no further preamble, he thrust into her, and instantly her world exploded again.

He moaned in surprise as another orgasm gripped her before he even made it in all the way. Crying out himself, he thrust farther in as her body clenched down on him again and again, rocking with spasm after spasm, their cries of pleasure mingling as another one took her the moment he was finally sheathed inside.

He covered her in an instant, his lips sealing themselves over hers, kissing her with unrestrained passion as she continued to tremble and cry out, his every movement bringing her exquisite pleasure. Never. Oh, never had anything ever felt so good!

"Victoria!" he moaned against her cheek as he rocked inside of her. "Oh, my love! My queen..."

She was gone. Carried away on an ocean of sensation while his big hands held her steady as he moved inside of her. It took every bit of her to hold him, he was so big. She was stretched, pressed, filled to the brim with her Lord Melbourne. At last! The beauty of the moment, the sheer male glory of her lover took her breath away and she wrapped her limbs around him, holding, pressing, wanting to be as close as she could be.

Oh this. This was perfection.

“I never want you to leave me,” she whispered, unable to stop the tears flowing. “Never leave me again, my love!”

His eyes too were wet and shining as he kissed her, giving her his tongue as well. He had always held onto her. Always he was her anchor. Her safe harbor. Her hero and champion. Her dearest, dearest love. And now, finally, he was where he had always belonged. They trembled together, breathing one another, whispering and kissing and loving, both seeking ever to be closer, melding together until they were whole. Safe. One.

Until, panting, he pulled away from her, his eyes holding hers, propping himself up on his hands, as he pulled himself distressingly far out of her and then, eyes closing, head rocking back, he drove himself in again, hard and deep with a grunt.

Victoria’s world exploded again as John flung her up among the stars and the heavens, sending her higher and higher with every move, every sultry word he uttered. Just the sight of him drove her wild, lost as he was--his head flung back, muscles and chords of his neck straining, eyes closed, lips parted as he pounded inside of her with abandon. He was so beautiful. The most beautiful man ever to exist. And he was her lover. Her Lord M and her John. 

Both of them were beyond words, and the room was filled with the hungry, urgent sounds of their mutual passion as their bodies came together, colliding, her hips rising to meet his every thrust, seeking to take him deeper and deeper, to hold all of him she could hold...

Her mind flooded with images and memories. Her Lord M's easy smile. The way their eyes would lock across a crowded room. The long days of easy camaraderie where they would ride out together, happy simply to be in one another's company. The times they'd stolen kisses, whispered heated words of hopeless love to one another. Pain, sharp and fresh, cut her to remember his death. And then, the joy of finding him again, here in this strange place. Different. Altered. But still very much the same man.

A different name, a different life. But her man, nonetheless. 

How many times had they acted out the same roles throughout history? Had they loved each other far longer than either knew? Perhaps they had chased each other throughout time, coming together again and again, two halves of the same whole, needing, hungering, clawing their way back again, and again, until finally they were together? Until they were finally, blissfully one, in every possible way...

He was far too much! Too much happiness, too much bliss to hold...

"Lord M!" she cried. "Johnnn! Oh, GOD!" A new wave, larger than the all the others overtook her body, and she screamed her climax, tears flowing down her face, her body shuddering, gripping him inside, as if she could keep him there for always if she just held on tight enough...

Three sharp thrusts later, and he threw back his head and roared--a sound of primal, animal triumph to the ceiling, bucking against her, all rhythm gone, as his seed exploded inside of her, bringing her with him again as he shuddered and collapsed on top of her with a groan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand breathe! 
> 
> There now. 😊
> 
> Author note:
> 
> Sorry for the delay, everyone! I really appreciate your patience on this chapter. RL has gotten a bit hectic, and I'll admit to a certain amount of trepidation in posting this. 
> 
> Some of you know that love scenes are difficult for me to write. Sometimes more than others. This one though has been beyond difficult. I'll admit I've rewritten this exactly 22 times plus additional edits, trying to get the mood and the tone just right for them. They deserved an epic first time, probably beyond my abilities to render it. But I think if I dont post this now it may never happen. I hope it didnt disappoint. 
> 
> Please let me know for better or worse! You know I love your comments! 💖


	18. Completion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Victoria continue to share some much-needed intimate time as John continues to remember his life as Lord M. Eventually the two new lovers prepare to drive to the lake for the weekend. 
> 
> *NSFW!! Repeat--NSFW!! STRONG HEAT ADVISORY continues in earnest!*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Mad Hatter: 'Have I gone mad?'  
> Alice Kingsley: 'I'm afraid so. You're entirely Bonkers. But I will tell you a secret, All the best people are.'"  
> \-- from Tim Burton's 2010 'Alice in Wonderland' movie

**Chapter 18--Completion**

_He had lived before._

The certainty thundered through him, undeniable. And yet his logical mind persisted feebly that it could not be so. The very suggestion was an earthquake beneath his feet.

Was he John Smith? Or was he Lord Melbourne? Or some combination of the two? What did it all mean? Did this happen to everyone, or just him--and if the latter, why?

Was he perhaps other people as well? How many times had he been born and died? Where were his other selves, and why did he have no memory of them?

The ground had opened and threatened to swallow him whole, shaking his foundation to the core. Memories tumbled through his mind like leaves in the autumn wind. Head over heels they came spinning by him in a flurry. Flashes and images, feelings--faster than he could hold or even catch.

He saw his home at Brocket Hall. The Palaces of Buckingham and Windsor. The Parliament building. Horse-drawn carriages. The scents of country and of town. And on the heels of these came faces of servants, family and friends, lovers and enemies--all long gone. Moments in time all in a jumble, like a stack of unsorted photographs falling about his ears. He knew them all. And yet he did not. They tumbled thick and fast, raining down around him. 

A beautiful woman with dark hair and a sweet smile-- _mother_. A tall, proud man, who greeted him with distance in his eyes-- _father._ A lanky boy with fair hair, grinning, hauling a shining fish from the lake-- _brother._ A sweet girl with a bonnet flowing with yellow ribbons and a smile he loved-- _sister_. Another girl, beautiful and elusive, giggling as he chased her through the trees, her step so light she barely touched the ground-- _Caro_. A shadow that loomed over her steps like a great dark bird, swooping down and carrying her away-- _Byron_. And a handsome boy with hair and eyes like his own, but troubled and vacant-- _Augustus._

Others came. School fellows. Women. Soldiers. Courtiers. Government officials. Royalty. Among them his dearest friends and closest compatriots, names that came readily to mind. _Lady Emma Portman. Caroline Norton. The Duke of Wellington. George Sutherland._ And others, less specific, more general. And then there were impressions of places he had frequented. Offices. An escritoire desk beside a sunny window. A greenhouse full of exotic blooms. The chambers at Parliament, row upon row of male faces, shouting and gesturing. The drawing room at Holland House. A candlelit ball where dancers glided past in glittering, ordered rows. The throne room at Buckingham Palace. His beloved library at Brocket Hall.

But through the maelstrom that raged around him, one image stood out among the others. Bright and shimmering. Golden. Precious beyond all measure. 

Standing before him as he dropped to his knees, taking her slight hand into his own, raising it to his lips...riding beside him in a riding habit of deep green, sitting aside her white palfrey with the best seat in all of England....standing in Westminster Abbey, a large and heavy crown being placed upon her beautiful head....riding beside him in a carriage....swirling through the ballroom in his arms....

Her merry laugh. The way her winsome eyes sparkled as she gazed at him. The scent of lilacs and gardenias in her hair. The feeling of her slight, delicate figure as they danced. The taste of her sweet lips as he stole breathless kisses...

More than all the others, his young queen shone like a beacon among the wreckage of his remembered other life. She, whom he had loved far above all the others, she who had poured out the contents of her pure, innocent heart to him, whose sparkling beauty, vivacity, intelligence and optimism had taken his darkest days and turned them into brightest joy, had made all the toil of his misspent life worthwhile. Everything else felt two-dimensional. Insignificant. She alone was unshakable and unmoved. Solid. _REAL._

"Victoria," he whispered her name with adoration. "Oh, Victoria..." 

John blinked back his tears, his vision clearing. The whirlwind of his thoughts, which had kicked up in earnest after their lovemaking had finished, was subsiding at last, leaving him gasping. 

"Mmmm?" She stirred beneath him, her hands going to his hair, combing it idly through her fingers as he lay with his head pillowed against her breast. 

He shuddered and sighed, luxuriating in her touch. They were still joined. The deed was done and he was spent, but he could not bring himself to withdraw from her. Not yet. Her taste still lingered on his tongue. The scent they made together wrapped around them both, and he breathed it in, intoxicated as he lay against her, too moved to utter anything but her beautiful name. Wishing they could just stay this way for all time.

Even without the memories of his former self, John knew he would love her in any life. No matter who he was, or where or when--she was his one constant. He knew it to be so. If he had been born a thousand times before, she had as well. They truly were entangled. Each a part of the other--indivisibly. Forever and for always. 

"I love you, Victoria. With all my heart. I love you!"

"And I you, my darling." 

Oh, the sweetness of her words! Her touch! He raised himself on shaky elbows, seeking her mouth with his own. Needing her kiss...

_Ohhhh._

He sighed into her, fusing his mouth to her honeyed lips, even as their bodies were fused. Deep and demanding, possessive and wild, he kissed her with all the passion of his soul. Kissed her and worshiped her with his kiss, and was rewarded with her sigh of pleasure as she melted into him in perfect submission.

Oh, at last. They truly had become one.

"I never want to let you go," he rasped against her cheek, the words coming from deep inside of him.

She smiled sleepily at him. "Then do not ever let me go. My dearest Lord M."

Her use of his old name, once given to him out of the affection of her young heart, thrilled him. He cried out against her lips as he took them again.

"Did I please you, Ma'am?" He whispered as he nuzzled her. "Was it everything you thought it would be between us?"

Her delirious smile was its own answer.

"No. It was so much _better_."

He kissed her deeply in reply. Her words were balm to his own beleaguered soul. She truly was his now. In every way--his. His kiss traveled down her throat reverently as he made his way back to her perfect, perky little breasts. He kissed each rosy peak, making her sigh before settling himself against her again. Despite his comfort and masculine pride though, and his own pleasant, post-orgasmic glow, his swirling thoughts returned, commanding his attention. He sighed, slipping out of her at last. Soon though. Very soon he would be back inside of her again. 

"What is wrong, my love?" she whispered after some time.

"Oh, well. I suppose this is all a lot to take in, that's all."

"What is?"

"That I am really your Lord Melbourne. Or at least, I once was," he raised his eyes to hers and smiled feebly. "I know it's true. It's all coming back now--all of the memories of my old life. And yet...my mind still can't get used to the notion. The only thing I know for a fact anymore is you. You are the only thing that really makes any sense."

"Oh my darling man," she whispered. "How difficult this must be for you! But I am here, My Love. I shall always be here. We shall not let them separate us ever again."

His eyes squeezed shut. If there was a way in hell he could keep her, he would. But he honestly did not know how. He didn't know how to send her home, either. In fact, he wasn't sure what scared him the most--her leaving him, or remaining. The former would guarantee her safety, but ensure his own destruction, while the latter would do the opposite. There was no question in his mind which way he would choose. But how to send her home again? He hadn't the slightest idea how to go about it--nor even the will to see it through.

He nuzzled into her soft, giving woman's breast, willing the unwelcome thoughts away, letting her hands soothe him as slowly she wound them through his hair, giving himself permission--just once--to live in this moment to the fullest.

"I want you again," he whispered, his body stirring as he kissed her breasts again, drawing one into his mouth with a groan. "Oh, Victoria. How I want to lose myself in you! I want to bury myself inside of you and never leave you again." He moaned as she stroked his hair, his face. God, her touch upon him anywhere! He closed his eyes and gave himself over to her hands. He was a man. He was a child. He was himself. He was Lord Melbourne. And oh, how he needed her!

"I want that too," she whispered. "There has never been anyone in my heart but you, My Dearest. Oh, that you were my one and only lover, forever."

With a cry he climbed her body, the need to seal his mouth over hers, to claim her again, overwhelming. He kissed her and kissed her, his beloved girl. 

His darling. _His._

She was his. Her every moan, her every sigh said so. His need--his longing for her was overwhelming. 

"John...I need you," she cried, "Oh please--please my love. My lover...how I need you so!"

He was more than ready for her now, and without preamble, he entered her again, buried his face in her shoulder, in her hair, and made love to her sweetly, rocking himself slow and deep inside of her in a rhythm as timeless and unhurried as the sea. How he wanted to spend all night just this way! Buried to the hilt inside of her, indulging in her sweet kisses, her sighs, the tight, wet heat of her body cradling his as he brought her to ecstasy again and again...

And in their joining was perfection. Peace. Safety. As if they existed in a world of their own making, outside of time and space, far away from all the horrors of his world. They whispered to each other, making love with their words, their eyes, as well as their bodies, coming together in the most spectacular climax he had ever had.

And in the afterglow he remembered--everything. All the disjointed photographs of his memories suddenly slid into place, and as he once again lay against her body, sated and still wrapped in her warmth, he recalled every remaining piece of himself. His memories. The names, the places of his old life, the events, and the accumulated knowledge of a lifetime well-lived in a now-distant land and time. He was at once, wholly and completely himself again. William Lamb...and John Smith. Fully merged and finally--one.

"My Darling Girl," he whispered, raising himself to kiss her again as he rolled to one side, bringing her with him and cradling her body inside the crook of his own. "Come here, Ma'am, and let me hold you. For I have waited so very long for you."

* * *

They dozed awhile. Victoria woke sometime later with her Lord M wrapped around her, and thought that life could not possibly be any more perfect. He stirred behind her, caressing her breast lightly, sending little sparks of pleasure shooting through her body, making her sigh in his arms. She smiled and drew his hand to her lips, covering it in little adoring kisses and pressing it against her cheek. Distantly, the sounds of the city drifted up to them through her window as she nestled into his warmth. She had never felt more safe. Cocooned away, far above the cares of the world, securely wrapped in his arms, in his scent as the world hurried on by beneath them.

"This is all I have ever wanted," she whispered, drawing his arms around her snugly. "It doesn't seem like much to ask."

"No it doesn't," he whispered, stroking her hair with his cheek. 

"Why is it so wrong to want you this way? Why could it never be?"

"Apart from the fact that I am wholly unsuitable?" His warm puff of laughter whispered past her ear. 

"You are not wholly unsuitable. You never have been."

He pulled her tighter against himself and she moaned. "How I wish that were true. Then and now."

"Hold me like this forever," she whispered. "Never let me go."

She felt his sigh as he squeezed her gently. "Ohh my Darling Girl. If only I could." His lips landed warm and soft on her shoulder. Once. Twice. Three times. Moving up her neck, until his lips found her ear lobe and drew it gently inwards, sucking lightly.

She moaned, her body stirring again as he lavished his attentions on her ear, his own arousal growing against her back.

"I want you. Just like this," he whispered, hand sliding heavily down her body, caressing her hips.

"Yes," she cried, body arching, questing backwards with her bottom as his lips kissed their way down the back of her neck, tongue sliding so perfectly against her skin. "Ohhhh John. Oh, my love... I can never get enough of you. Of your touch...your kisses...of you inside of me..."

He groaned against her. "Here. Move this leg forward a little," he whispered, hand on her upper thigh. "Yes, just like that. Ohh Darling, that's so perfect..." 

He pressed into her slowly, both of them gasping with pleasure. Oh, he felt different this way! Deeper and higher. Her hips rolled back against his instinctively, falling into his rhythm as his hand slid between her legs, sliding expertly against her nub, playing her body like an instrument, already knowing just how to tease and touch her. How fast, how hard, where she liked him most as he rocked gently inside of her. 

"Do you like me this way? Do you like me taking you from behind--Ma'am?"

"Oooh yes! Oh God _YES!_ "

"There are so many ways to love each other," His voice rasped, both harsh and sweet in her ear. "How I look forward to sampling them all with you..."

"I want it all! Ohhhh my Lord M! Teach me as you once did...Ohhhh how I always longed for you to teach me... _everything!"_

"You shall have it all, My Love. Everything I am is yours..."

She bit her lip and threw her head back into his shoulder, overcome. His movements were slow and steady and deep, making her pleasure burn so hot in her veins she thought she would become flame. She called his name again and again, first one and then the other in a litany, completely at his mercy, falling into him as she gave in to the flame, became sensation. He was her master, owning her, body and soul--his touch upon her, inside of her, claiming her forever. And she had never felt more glorious. More safe. More free.

 _"_ Good, is it?" He purred into her ear.

"Yes! You know it is! Oh, you feel so good, John! So very, very good!"

"Show me what I do to you--how I make you feel! Come to me, my Queen, My Darling Girl...ohh come to me now!"

A low, keening wail started deep in her body as her climax overpowered her. He held her steady as she flew completely apart in his arms. Tears flowed from her eyes into her hair, onto him too as she shuddered and cried and lost herself entirely, while he whispered words of love and encouragement into her ear.

As her body clamped hard down upon him, he groaned, long and low, as his movements grew sharper and more urgent, and she knew he was close. His own climax came hard and sudden, and he shuddered against her, crying out her name, as his seed exploded hot and wet inside of her. His ecstasy drove her wild, triggering another wave in her as she cried out to him in complete surrender. 

* * *

_God above!_

He moaned as his body shuddered, as she drew every last drop of his pleasure from him and left him trembling. He buried his face in her neck, drinking in the quakes that rolled through her body as she wriggled and moaned in his arms, his hand upon her never stopping until it had wrung from her every last tremor.

Was there any more perfect woman--perfect lover--in the world?

He wrapped his arms around her again, still joined with her.

She laughed softly against him.

"Do you think I'm going to try to get away?"

"I'm not taking any chances. You're not getting away from me. Not tonight. Not ever."

"Nor you, my love. I will never let you go now."

"Seems we're stuck with each other then, Ma'am."

"Indeed we are."

He nuzzled her happily.

"I missed you so much," she whispered suddenly. "It felt like my soul had been torn from my body when you..."

He squeezed her even tighter as a memory bubbled to the surface. The last time he'd seen her. She had brought him a gift. But she was the real gift. She always was.

"Such talks we had, Ma'am," he whispered in her ear now, tears pricking his eyes as she gasped. "You were the cleverest and most beautiful of all women. How dearly I loved and treasured every moment we shared together."

"Oh Lord M!" She sobbed. "Oh please do not talk of that time! I cannot bear it!"

"I am here now. I am back with you. All is well, my love." He kissed the perfect shell of her ear, wrapping his arms and legs around her. "Do not weep, my darling girl. No more weeping." He patently pushed away thoughts of another separation. Now was for them. "Feel my arms around you. My body inside yours. My kisses upon your skin," he kissed beneath her ear. "We are together now, that's all that matters anymore."

"Yes," she sobbed, covering his hands and arms with her own. "Oh yes."

He held her and caressed her softly, and for a time they did not speak. He didn't want to leave her, ever. Didn't even want to pull out of her. Didn't want to let her out of his arms ever again. But it was now fully night outside her window, and if they were going to escape this hellhole tonight and make it to his private oasis under cover of dark, now was the time.

"Victoria," he whispered after some time had passed. "Are you awake still, My Love?"

"I am," she said with a sigh, caressing his arm lightly.

"We must go soon if we are to go at all. Are you packed?"

"I am. We can leave whenever you wish."

"Good. Then I suppose we must get on with it."

"I suppose so."

Neither moved.

He chuckled softly. "Part of me wishes we'd waited till we were there already," he drew his hand up the silky skin of her arm in an idle caress. "Then I wouldn't have to leave you now."

"I know. But I couldn't wait a moment more for you."

A thrill shot through him at her words, and he turned her chin until he covered her lips with his own, happier than he could remember being in either lifetime, and then slipped out of her with a sigh.

Damn, he was so cold without her.

She turned instantly, her eyes bright and eager, even in the darkness, and took his face in both her hands and kissed him again. "Come back soon, My Lad. Now I know I shall never be able to suffer your absence for long."

He chuckled, laying his head against hers. "Shall you be so demanding on my body, Ma'am, as you once were upon my time?"

"Far more so," she whispered in return.

He kissed and nuzzled her softly. "I shall be only too happy to indulge you, now as then."

"See that you do."

* * *

They separated slowly, each unwilling to let the other go entirely, kissing and caressing until gradually he left her side and visited the water closet. Victoria lay back with a sigh for a moment, gazing at the ceiling, trying to remember if her body had ever felt so good. So completely satisfied. And more so because her heart was finally at peace. To love and be loved by him in return was the greatest thing in all the world.

He returned soon and it was her turn.

"It's only about nine o'clock," he called through the door. "If we leave soon, we'll still be able to get in at a decent hour. We will still be noticed even at night--there's no way around that. But we can at least minimize that under cover of dark."

"We can leave as soon as we are dressed as far as I am concerned," she said, emerging.

He came to her and took her lips with his. They were still naked, and the sensation of his body touching hers all the way down thrilled her. He pulled her close, under the same spell as she, and growled playfully into her ear as he nibbled her earlobe, his hands pressing her bottom close to him.

"Mmmm, I guess this does mean that I have to let you get dressed, doesn't it?"

"Unless you want me to accompany you on the street naked."

"No. The sight of you naked I want to save all for myself." 

She smiled into his eyes. "Then yes, you will have to let me get dressed."

He pouted a little, cupping her breasts thoughtfully. "I guess you'll have to put these away too, huh?"

"I certainly shall," she said with a smile.

He gave an exaggerated sigh and then bent to kiss her breasts, first one and then the other, making her giggle. She raised his chin up and kissed him solidly on the mouth. 

"Well then. The sooner we get going the better," he whispered, nuzzling her and giving her a playful smack on the bottom. "So I can unwrap you again later."

"And I you. My handsome man," she said, running a hand along his chest, and then, unable to resist, planted her face in his chest and kissed him, loving the way the fur of his chest hair tickled her face as she nuzzled against him. 

He chuckled, pleased, and raised her chin to kiss her once more, then gathered up his clothes and left her, crossing the hall to his own room to change. Victoria walked around her room, giggling to realize that all her clothes had been tossed to the far corners of the room as he had undressed her. One stocking hung ignominiously over the lamp, the other was under the bed. Her panties, she discovered, had been stuffed under her pillow, and her bra had landed just beneath her window. She gathered it all together and dressed again, stopping a moment to gaze at her reflection.

Her makeup had survived for the most part fairly well, except of course for her lipstick. She applied some powder along with a fresh coat of it and brushed her hair, smiling as her eyes fell onto his pocket watch. For the first time since her arrival, the sight of it did not fill her with a deep, longing pain. She clasped the token with joy and kissed it anyway, slipping it into her pocket as she gathered her bags together and left the room.

* * *

John dressed quickly in plain, dark clothes--dark trousers, a casual, button-down blue shirt and a dark sports jacket. He reached into the dressing table also, taking out the pistol he kept there. He checked to make sure it was loaded then slipped out of his jacket to put on his shoulder holster, secured the pistol there and slipped his coat on again.

It would be so easy to lose himself in Victoria, in the bliss of her arms. But he knew he didn't dare go anywhere unprepared. And if needs be, there was always the small pistol he kept in the glove box, fully loaded, and the large knife taped up under his dash. Long experience in the US Army, and later in the Reich, had taught him to prepare for as many eventualities as possible. It was no guarantee he and Victoria would survive, but he'd at least take as many would-be attackers with him as possible. 

Checking the time, he saw it was already past nine thirty. Still, not too bad, really. They'd be there around midnight at this rate, and then they could fall into bed together, make love some more and wake up in the morning, wrapped in each other's arms, already there.

He didn't really need to pack anything else--his clothes and everything he needed were already at the lake house. John grabbed his fedora on the way out, turned off the lights and closed the door behind him, eager to get back to her.

Her little bags were already there in the foyer, and John followed the sounds of clinking dishes to the kitchen. Standing in the doorway, hands in his pockets, he watched as she packed up most of their dinner and put it in the fridge, caressing her slender curves with his eyes, his heart glowing with contentment as he drank her in. 

"You're getting to be quite good at that," he said with a smile. "One would hardly know you've barely touched a dish or a cupboard in your life before."

"I'm becoming more than a little fond of your future ways, I think," she said with a smile of her own. "It's quite marvelous to be so independent. But I am afraid dinner is quite cold, and I do not know how to warm it again."

"No matter," he said with a shrug, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her, kissing the top of her head. "You're more than worth a cold dinner."

She turned in his arms and smiled up into his eyes, glowing with happiness. "So are you." She picked up two plates and started to head to the dining room, but he relieved her of them.

"Nah. Let's not bother with that. Let's eat here." He led her to a small breakfast table off one side of the kitchen. Because he was about to drive, they didn't drink wine tonight. Just ice water to help their cold steaks go down a bit better. It was a shame, really, that they hadn't eaten them hot. They would have been amazing. But not as amazing as making love to Victoria had been.

He couldn't stop touching her. His feet sought hers under the table, and he reached across the top of it to hold her hand. Finally, he had to turn his attention to dinner to get through it.

They ate in companionable silence. It had been a day for revelations, and a night for sharing truths. Their lovemaking had been unlike anything he'd ever experienced. It left him hungry for more, of course. But at the same time, oddly it left him somewhat bashful. He had shared so much of himself with her tonight--more than he ever had with any other woman. Her eyes met his over her water glass and smiled, and he almost blushed as he returned it.

Their conversation was light and kept to a minimum, and though he was certain Victoria must be bursting with questions, he was grateful she did not ask them now. By tacit agreement, they were both trying to get underway as quickly as possible. There would be time for talking and loving later.

He helped her clear away the dishes and washed them quickly. Then he produced a picnic basket from one of the lower cabinets, and they began loading it with some items he was sure they would need. Milk, eggs, bread, butter, and a few other perishables he didn't typically keep on hand at the other house when they weren't there. They padded it all with ice for the journey, and John called for his car.

He had never been so happy to leave his apartment as he was tonight. Stopping at the front desk, he instructed his elevator be deactivated until he returned, and they stepped out of the building and into the waiting night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again for the longer wait. RL continues to be pesky. Hope it was still enjoyable.
> 
> Please leave me a comment if you feel so moved. I love hearing from you all!


	19. Just You and Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Victoria leave the city behind and head into the Catskills to John's hideaway home for the weekend.
> 
> *Heat Advisory. NSFW!*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “'What a funny watch!’ she remarked. ‘It tells the day of the month, and doesn’t tell what o’clock it is!’  
> ‘Why should it?’ muttered the Hatter. ‘Does YOUR watch tell you what year it is?’  
> ‘Of course not,’ Alice replied very readily: ‘but that’s because it stays the same year for such a long time together.’  
> ‘Which is just the case with MINE,’ said the Hatter.”  
> —Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

**Chapter 19—Just You and Me**

Her new lover looked so handsome in his everyday clothes, Victoria thought happily as she followed him through the building. Though far less intimidating than when in his dark uniform, still clinging unconsciously about him was a certain air of authority—in the set of his broad shoulders, in the long, powerful striding walk. Clearly, John Smith was in every way a man used to giving orders and receiving obedience from others, and watching his commanding walk sent a frisson of excitement through her. Less than an hour before, he had held her in those strong arms, wrapped her in his powerful body. His kisses—so full of urgent sweetness, his whispers in her ear had warmed her soul. Oh, and the feeling of him, moving inside of her…

She cleared her throat primly and tried to refocus the direction of her thoughts. Here, out in the open was no time to daydream about her love. Not in this future world that seemed to watch and listen to everything they did with unseen eyes and ears. So she drew herself up, adopting the posture she always took when facing down a room of recalcitrant ministers—and followed him with as brisk and proud a step as she could manage.

They strode purposefully through the lobby area, his hat pulled down over his brow, his face again set in hard lines—something she was beginning to recognize as a kind of armor he seemed to wear whenever they were around other people. What a difference though, between her gentle lover and his stony exterior! When she glanced at him now, how forbidding he seemed!

Though she had to admit she found him rather exciting this way, it still made her sad to think again about what kind of world he lived in that had necessitated the growing of such a protective shell around himself. Not for the first time she wondered more and more about this place. There was so much she did not know. Perhaps this weekend he would tell her more.

When they got to the curb, Victoria was surprised to see that in place of his usual black car with its driver and guards at the ready, there was a more ordinary brown one instead. A soldier alighted, and with a crisp salute handed John the keys and left.

“This is actually my car,” he explained as he handed her into the front. He closed her door and loaded the picnic basket and her bags in the rear luggage compartment before circling around to the driver’s side. “I use it only for personal reasons now,” he said as he took his place before the wheel and closed his own door. “When I don’t have to be the Reichsmarschall.”

“You drive yourself?”

“Yes,” he blinked, smiling at her, his stern expression melting into a soft familiarity again now they were alone in the car. “It’s not like the old days now, Ma’am. Most everyone drives their own ‘carriage’. At least, that’s the American way. I only let myself be driven around for official business. It’s nice now and again to take the old girl out and remind myself I still know how to operate it.”

“Do you not miss horses?” She asked as he started the ignition and pulled away from the curb.

“Well, as I was—reborn—and grew up in this time, I’ve always had a car of some kind or other. When I was your Prime Minister though, I did enjoy horses. But I suppose it’s like anything else. How much is about what we like, versus what we know?” He shook his head. “Amazing,” he said half to himself with a chuckle. “Listen to me. What I considered to be impossible only yesterday, now feels just like a matter of course.”

“I can relate to that. After all, I should not be here at all.”

“No,” he said, turning to her with a smile. “But I sure am glad you are here. And I must say, you have acclimated very well, Ma’am. You’ve taken to my century with your usual resilience, and now look at you. No one would ever know you are not a modern woman.”

She smiled, laying her head back against the seat. “How I have missed you! Oh, Lord M. Life has been so desolate without you.”

He slid his hand across the seat, took her hand in his, raised it to his lips and placed a kiss on her knuckles. “That used to be the highlight of my day, you know. When I got to drop to my knees before you and kiss your hand. That part I do remember very vividly.”

“It was the highlight of mine, too.”

“You will never know how many times I didn’t want to let it go.”

“And you will never know how fervently I wished you never would.”

He looked at her askance, and they both giggled.

“Now look at us. Who would have ever thought, Ma’am.”

“Certainly this is not the way I envisioned we would end up together. But I’m only too happy it has happened.”

“Me too.” He squeezed her hand in reply.

They drove on in a comfortable silence, heading in a northern direction, to a place John called North-South Lake. For a long while, Victoria watched the lights of New York City twinkle and rush past her window in a blur, like so many shooting stars. It was hypnotic, beautiful. And it was so lovely driving at night, just the two of them. No coachman. No driver. Like being in their own little private world with no one to intrude. For so long, it had been all she had ever desired. And now…oh and now. She had so much more.

After awhile, the city began to thin around them, and presently they came to a security checkpoint, lit up with bold searchlights, and a great crossbar blocking the road. Stern-faced armed soldiers approached them on both sides of the car—another sobering reminder of the strange world John lived in.

He handed the guard both her papers and his, but it was not really necessary. It took the guard but a moment to recognize the Reichsmarschall, and hasten them through. After that, the countryside really began to open up, and John sighed in what she was certain was relief.

“No more checkpoints now,” he said, reaching for her hand again. “But we still have some driving to do. It won’t hurt my feelings if you want to lay back and get some sleep.”

“No, I’m perfectly content. How long I dreamed of being with you this way. Perfectly and completely alone.” She said, stroking his hand with her own fingers.

“You had me alone. Many times, as I remember.”

“But never like this. Never without threat that someone would happen upon us, or be listening at keyholes. I never realized how crowded the palace truly is. Until I came here.”

He huffed a laugh. “Don’t let the solitude deceive you. There is more listening at keyholes here than there ever was at Buckingham palace. It would not do to forget that.”

“Except when I am quite alone with you here. Or in your apartment. Or perhaps where we are going?”

He inclined his head. “True enough.”

“I feel as if I never want to sleep. I am afraid of closing my eyes, lest you disappear when I awake.”

He turned to face her, eyes soft as he smiled. “Me too,” he said simply. “Oh Victoria.” He raised her fingers to his lips and kissed them. “Nothing is right without you. Not then. Not now.”

“No,” she whispered with a sigh. “It is not. I want you at my side forever.”

“As do I.”

They drove on in a companionable silence. 

“How are you feeling really, my love?” She asked after awhile.

“Oh…better than I have in years.” He flashed her a mischievous smile and waggled his eyebrows at her.

“That is not what I meant,” she said with a giggle. “I meant about discovering yourself.”

“Oh well. It’s still strange, though at least my head isn’t in a spin cycle anymore,” he said, huffing a laugh and shaking his head. “I know it’s true, but…I suppose it will take some getting used to.”

“I have been thinking what I should do should I suddenly find that once upon this earth I was…Queen Elizabeth, for instance, and Robert Dudley paid me a visit from his own time. How difficult it should be to accept that once upon another time, this man was my companion, and perhaps even my lover, when he would know me fully, but I not remember him. I think you have accepted things with far better grace than I should have done in your position.”

“My heart knew you instantly,” he whispered, turning his brilliant green eyes on her. “If Elizabeth and Dudley were as much to each other as you and I, then your heart would have known him the same way. And eventually, the rest of you would have caught up, and I daresay a damned sight faster than I have. Your ability to land on your feet is truly remarkable, Ma’am.”

She smiled at him and was both gratified and reassured to see the softness in his face when he regarded her. “My heart knew you too, but you were so adamant that you were not yourself that I doubted. And your behavior was so—changed at first.”

“I can only imagine how upsetting it must have been for you. Can you ever forgive me, Ma’am?”

“There is nothing to forgive. I was a stranger to you then.”

“You were not. And in some ways that made it worse. Because it was even more frightening.”

“Still. Do not reproach yourself, my love. It was entirely understandable. But I must say I prefer you this way. You were so fierce at first. I had never seen you so.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Well. I guess you could say it’s an unfortunate side-effect of the world I live in now. I have to be—” he huffed a laugh, “fierce.”

“Well. Now that we have an understanding, I do not mind it so much as I did before,” she said, laying her head back against the seat as she regarded him. “You had a fiercer side before as well. I remember seeing it only rarely, but it was…glorious.”

He laughed again, turning heavy-lidded eyes to her. “What a very interesting word. Do I take it that you like seeing me that way?”

“Yes," she smiled at him. "So long as you are not cross with me." 

"I could never be angry with you." He smiled. 

"Do you remember the day I opened the monument to dearest Papa, and the Chartists made themselves known?”

“Yes. I sent you back to the palace with Lord Alfred.”

“You did. And your face was like a thunderclap, my love. I had never seen such a ferocious look upon your countenance before.”

“I was worried about you. Furious that they should threaten you.”

“I know.”

He smiled softly at her. “I was ready to hurl myself into the fray, if necessary. Anything to protect you.”

“Always you are my protector,” she whispered softly with a smile. “How many times you have risen to my defense. How many times you took on the whole world for my sake."

He huffed a laugh. "I fear you exaggerate my role and influence, Ma'am. But you know I love flattery."

"It is not flattery!" she said with a smile. "It is the truth. And you know it well, Lord M. But for you, my enemies would have succeeded in supplanting me."

"God forbid," he snorted derisively. "And did I not love you with all my heart and soul besides, I would never have wished that on the country. No. England needed you, Ma'am. No question in my mind."

She smiled. "I shall never forget how fearfully handsome you looked that day. So brave and so strong. When you put me behind your back I felt so safe. I wanted so to wrap my arms about you and bury my head into your shoulder, cover you with kisses and beg you to take me into your arms and hold me forever.”

"Well. That would have given them all something to talk about for sure. Including your Uncle Leopold, and your two suitors."

"Hardly suitors. I care nothing for George, and the Grand Duke and I could never have been more than friends. Neither of them could hold a candle to you. You were always the most handsome and splendid man of my acquaintance. Your beauty quite blinded me to all other men. Then and now."

"Beauty?" He huffed a laugh, wrinkling his nose at her choice of words. "Indeed, Ma'am?"

"Indeed, Lord M. Your manly beauty is still unparalleled in my experience. No one is as handsome as you. Or as good."

He looked at her again, and he was so like his former self in that moment that she could have wept. She could see the shine of unshed tears in his eyes as again he took her hand and raised it to his lips, pressing it to them and holding her there.

“When you rescued me at my apartment, you looked just as forbidding, but only more so. When I looked up and saw you there, emerging from the shadows, your dark coat swirling about you as you walked, I thought you a dark knight, riding to my rescue. And in that moment, my heart loved you.” she broke away. “I felt—disloyal—to find I had feelings for you, too, John. I have been struggling with them. I must say, it has comforted me no end to find in fact that you are yourself after all.”

“I will always ride to your rescue.” He said with a smile, kissing her hand again. “When you clung to me so tightly that night, I was so--jealous. I knew your love was for your Lord M, not me. And I wished in that moment that I was him, not merely someone who looked like him. I wanted you to love me that passionately.”

“Well. Now you can be assured—I do.”

He gave her that little smile she had always loved. “Is it even possible to be jealous of oneself?”

“I am sure it can be in such a circumstance. Oh, how happily everything is now resolved between us! Now we shall have no more such conflicts. We are free to love each other. To be together at last.”

He turned from her, smiling, and for a time neither of them spoke.

“Was it everything you thought it would be?” He asked sometime later, turning to her. "When we made love tonight?"

“No," she replied with a sigh. "It was far more glorious than I could ever have dreamed of.”

“Yes,” he whispered. “It was.”

“I cannot wait until we can be so again.” She pulled his arm to her and wrapped both of hers around it, planting little kisses on his shoulder. How hard his arm was! How strong, and powerful! Her lips grazed over him hungrily.

"Me either," he rasped, his hand sliding beneath the hem of her skirt, teasing the soft flesh of her inner thigh before drifting farther up her body, his fingers searching.

Victoria slid closer with a sigh, letting him reach his target. His eyes flew wide as he turned to her with a groan.

“Victoria…where are your pretty little panties, hm?”

“Oh dear,” she murmured, biting her lip coquettishly. “I knew I had forgotten something.”

He groaned again. "Have you no mercy at all, Ma'am?"

"None whatever." Her head flopped back as his fingers teased her, and she squirmed to give him better access. "Ohhh how good you feel...ohhh don't stop."

Suddenly the car veered towards the shoulder, down from the road and onto the soft grass, where John cut the engine and turned off the lights. As soon as the vehicle had come to a complete stop, he was on her in the darkness, his mouth covering hers in a searing kiss, fusing them together as he pulled her onto his lap. With one hand, he reached down and adjusted the seat to give them more room before returning both hands to her hips and pulling her tight against him, enough to feel the full length of his rock-hard erection.

She moaned into his mouth as his hands roamed her body.

“I can’t wait another moment for you,” he growled into her. “I need to be inside of you. Right here. Right now."

"Oh John! Oh yes, I want that! I ache to feel you in me..."

He kissed her again, one hand between them, scrambling madly to release himself. His desperation fired her blood even more and she mewed into his kiss, her hunger overwhelming her. 

"Touch me," he breathed, guiding her hands to his body and moaning as she closed both hands around him, hot and pulsing and hard as iron.

"Oh my love. My Lord M!" she squeezed him gently as she worked him once, up and down, making him shudder. Oh the way he was looking at her! How was it she had this strong, beautiful man at her mercy? She kissed him, and he returned it with a passion that overcame every last scruple and sent a fresh bolt of fire straight to her center. 

"You drive me to insanity wanting you," he breathed, his fingers once again teasing her. "Come here,” he whispered, pressing her skirts above her waist and raising her hips over him as he slid lower in the seat.

“What if someone comes upon us?”

“They won’t,” his words were thick, guttural, as he moved himself in position. “No one will see. It’s dark, and there’s hardly anyone on this road.” He lowered her onto him, thrusting up into her, until he was suddenly deep inside of her.

“Ohhhhhh… _John! YES!”_ She gripped his shoulders for support. All of her breath whooshed out of her. Oh, he was here! He was so here and so deep, and she was so full. So perfectly, perfectly full of him! 

He took her face lightly between his fingers, guiding her lips to his, his kiss open-mouthed and sensual, slowly and sweetly making love to her mouth as well as her body.

“Ride me, Ma’am,” he rasped, his hands dropping to her hips, guiding her up and down as he rocked up into her. “Ride me so hard. That’s it. Just like that…”

She was so ready for him—far more needy than she thought—and she fell into the quick rhythm he set, rolling her hips against him, the most wanton, lusty sounds coming from them both, mingling like their bodies, driving them both to madness. His hands slid up her body again, under her blouse, freeing one breast from her bra for his hot, eager lips as her hands wound into his hair and drew him closer.

It didn’t take long. Her climax broke over her hard and fast. Almost as soon as it happened for her, she felt it break in him, and his hands gripped her hips tight enough to shatter them as he thrust wildly up into her, coming and coming inside of her, filling her with his hot seed as he roared his release. 

They shuddered together until the last echoes of pleasure left them spent, and she lay her cheek against his head. It was so perfect, wrapped around him here in the dark. Part of her wanted to stay here, not moving, not separating for a long time. But presently he released her breast, kissing its peak softly before carefully and tenderly tucking it back into her bra and lowering her blouse, meeting her eyes again.

“My Queen,” he whispered, cradling her face between his hands, drawing her lips to his and kissing her, slow and deep.

"I never want to let go of you," she whispered between his kisses. " I want to hold you inside me forever."

He kissed her again, pressing her hard against his body, as reluctant to release her as she was to go. They stayed where they were--spent, entwined, feeling each other's heart beating, as their breathing slowed. 

“How much farther do we have to go?” she said after a time. Neither of them were in a hurry to separate.

“We’re about halfway there,” he whispered. “We must get going. Once we’re at the house, we’ll be safe.”

They separated with many kisses and much regret, and John produced a couple of handkerchiefs to assist them each in putting themselves somewhat to rights again. After they were both once again presentably dressed and she was back in her seat belt, he set off again.

“Better?” she asked him, reaching across the seat for his hand.

“For now.” He kissed her hand again. “God what you do to me, Ma'am. I can't seem to go half an hour before needing you again.”

“Then let us hurry along. So that we may tend one another again soon."

“Oh yes. I need a lot of tending from you.” He purred.

“As do I, my Lord Melbourne. From you.”

“God it thrills me to hear you call me by my old name.”

“Then perhaps I should restrict myself to John for now. So that we arrive at your lake house tonight as planned.”

“No. I’m afraid that thrills me too. Especially the way you were using it before.”

She felt herself blush suddenly and look away from him. “I’m afraid you have quite an effect on me.”

“As you do on me—Ma’am. Especially when you’re telling me about how much you love my big beautiful cock inside of you.”

Her blush deepened. At one point she had quite lost all control of what came out of her mouth.

“Don’t do that,” he said suddenly.

“What?”

“Be ashamed of what you say to me when we are making love. I could live on those words forever. They go straight to my heart.”

She met his eyes and smiled into them shyly. "They came straight from mine. However--unseemly you must think me to say it so brazenly."

"In both of my lifetimes, Victoria, there has never been a woman who knows me so well. Who completes me as you do. With you, everything is so--effortless. The way we are with each other. No matter what we are doing or where we find ourselves. Being with you is so easy. The most natural thing in the world. The way it should always be." He kissed her hand again. "I adore you. I adore every little thing about you. There is nothing I wouldn't do for you--to keep you safe. To make you happy. That you enjoy my body as much as I enjoy yours pleases me no end. Excites me down to the marrow of my bones." He turned his dark green gaze to her. "Never be ashamed to tell me. I love it when you do."

"Oh my dearest..." she felt tears prick at her eyes. His speech quite took her breath away. Not only for the sentiment it expressed that so perfectly matched her own, but at what it implied about his life without her. She didn't know what to say, and so for a time, sat with his words ringing in her ears. Pleasure at his praise sank deep into her heart. But her curiosity could not help but be sparked, and she was reminded again of how much she did not know--how much she both wanted and did not want to know--about his life without her.

“Have you—” she swallowed hard, not sure she wanted an answer to the question in her mind, and even less sure he'd wish to discuss it.

“Have I what?” 

She didn't respond right away, but she could feel his eyes on her. 

"Ma'am?" he said gently, coaxing. 

“Have you—had many lovers in this life? I know of course that you did have in your former.” She bit her lip. Not even sure why she asked, or why she could suddenly not draw breath as she waited for his response.

“Oh, Victoria…none of them matter. None of them—in either lifetime—can hold a candle to you.”

The vice around her heart eased.

“I would gladly give up every last one of them for you. I wish—God how I wish it were so. I would have you for my one and only--then as now.”

“As would I.”

They lapsed into silence again for a time before he spoke.

“I’ve said it before, but…you do know that I am…a different man now. I was born an American, in this time. Grew up here. Had…an entirely new life.”

“Yes. Of course you have.”

“There are parts of my life here you know nothing about. Parts that might…surprise you.”

“Undoubtedly. But I look forward to learning all about your new life.”

“In some ways, I am far closer to you than I’ve ever been with anyone. But in some other ways, you hardly know me.” He turned to her. “That doesn’t bother you any?”

“But you are still yourself, no matter what has befallen you or what your experiences have been. That is all I need.” She smiled.

Strangely though, her words did not seem to reassure him, and his expression grew somber.

“I hope…you know, no matter what else, that I love you, Victoria. That is an absolute that will never change.”

“But why should you think I should doubt it? I know your life has been different here. But you have returned to yourself. And to me.”

“I guess what I’m hoping is that you could…learn to love me for who I am now as much as you did then. Even though I’m…different.”

“But I do already,” she turned to him with a smile. “Surely you know that.”

She was surprised to see sadness in his eyes when he turned away from her. He didn’t say anything else, and after a moment seemed to disappear into his own thoughts, leaving her puzzled, and vaguely uneasy.

Something was troubling him. She wished he would share it with her. But perhaps…she turned to look out of her own window. There was not much of a view anymore. The scenery was blanketed in night, only vague shadows of trees lining the road came to her attention, along with the odd building now and again. Perhaps it was the thought of his wife and family that troubled him so.

The pictures she’d seen of the gorgeous redhead flooded her mind, piercing her heart, the sting of it so much sharper now that she knew for a fact who he was. That her Lord M could go on and marry someone else—love someone else, have children, and a life together—it cut her to the bone. But it was a foolish notion, she admonished herself. He was reborn in another world as another man, after all. He was the same—but not the same. She should not be so childish. Would she have him live in entirely new century where she was long gone, with no memory of her or his former self, and live a second life as a sacrifice to a memory that was dormant inside? It was not even remotely reasonable.

But love Helen he did. Or at least had. And they had children--two little girls were out there, somewhere. And he was their Papa. Their dear Papa was now out with a strange woman. A woman who shared his bed…

She felt her cheeks darken. And she was someone’s Mama too.

Her own children came to her mind suddenly. What would they be going through now, wondering where she was? And what would Albert tell them—that she was a wicked woman who did not love them, and did not deserve their love?

And where had she been, but in the bed of a man she had loved far longer and far deeper than their Papa. The notion wounded her for their sake, though there was not a thing she could do about it.

She lay her head against the seat belt, feeling drowsy. Their recent lovemaking had left her sated, and the hum and vibration of the engine that propelled them through the night, along with the rhythm of the road beneath their wheels, lulled her, and her mind drifted, remembering John’s strong arms around her, his kisses on her body—everywhere. She sighed. Never had she felt so complete. So whole and so loved.

_He had been that way with Helen, too._

The image of him in a passionate embrace with his wife rose unbidden to her mind and robbed her of her breath. Choked her.

She glanced at him. His profile was set in stern lines again as he watched the road, clearly in a world all his own for the moment. Subconsciously she twisted her hands in her lap.

He belonged to someone else now, whatever their past connection, as did she. And as she sat there she felt the chains of her queen-ship return to her, the shackles she had forged around her own wrists, for which Albert held the key. They each had their own lives now. Entirely separate. With families. Responsibilities. Much as they loved each other, they were just as forbidden a life together here as they had been in her time.

_She would have to give him up._

The certainty of it stuck in her heart, a vicious barb that dug at her cruelly, robbed her of breath.

Sometime soon, she would have to return to her own time, to Albert and the children. To her nation. And when she did, their parting truly would be forever. This time they had together--stolen as it was--was so fleeting. A few precious days perhaps, where they could come together briefly to love one another as they had never been permitted before--to remember their love, to say farewell…

How would she bear it when the time came to part? To leave him now, after all they had shared? Being here with him like this was all she had ever wanted, and everything she could not have, in the future as well as in her own time. How could she walk away from him now? How could she let go?

It was nothing but a dream—still. As ever it was before, an impossibly beautiful dream, from which at some point they would both have to wake again and return to the lives they were destined to live--separated forever. Unless sometime in the future, they might both be reborn together again in a different place and time...

A sob escaped. One only, but it was enough.

His hand came into view, covered both of hers on her lap and squeezed. The frantic beating of her heart slowed with his touch, and she took a deep breath. Glancing up, she found his eyes softly on hers.

He said nothing, but smiled into her eyes in that way he had always done whenever she needed reassurance, or courage.

She took a deep breath, drawing both from his gaze, batting her lashes against the tears that suddenly fell from her eyes. His hand rose to her cheek, cupping her face warmly, wiping her tears away with his thumb.

“Heeey,” he said tenderly. “None of that now. This is supposed to be a fun trip.”

“Yes of course. I’m sorry,” she smiled up at him. “Forgive me.”

His touch could not help but soothe her. It always had before, even when they had barely touched. But now—when they had shared everything with each other—now, so much more so. She drew a fortifying breath and steadied herself. No matter how long or short the time they had together, what was most important—what was vital—was that they lived each moment to the fullest.

And that is what she intended to do.

* * *

“But I do love you already,” she turned to him with a smile that melted his heart in his chest. “Surely you know that.”

He turned from her shining face with reluctance, and focused back on the road. It was as far as he dared approach telling her. As if on cue to torment him, Abendsen’s words ricocheted around in his mind, pummeling him inside his own skull.

_…“What a shame for her to find you so altered from the good man she remembers…”_

What would she do if she knew just how far he had fallen? If she understood the full horror of the Nazi regime, of what it stood for? What he had been a part of? That shining face so full of love and trust that warmed him inside and out…would be forever turned away from him. It was a thought he could not bear.

In the recent upheaval of his inner landscape, she alone was his rock in a world where reality shifted like sand beneath his feet.

How was one man supposed to cope with two separate and very real identities? Might it drive a man crazy? Perhaps he already was.

Emerging from the wreckage of HMS John Smith though, were two non-negotiable mandates—one, that Victoria never fall into the hands of Himmler, or the Resistance. She must be kept safe at all costs. And to that end, he needed a contingency plan. A way to protect her in case of anything happening to himself. For as it stood now, without him, she would be alone here with no protector,at the mercy of all the monsters that populated his current world. That was wholly unacceptable.

The second mandate was becoming more and more vital to him as time went on--Victoria must never discover the true nature of the Reich, or of its atrocities, particularly the ones he was responsible for. Oh, there was plenty that he wasn’t responsible for, that was true. But he’d committed his fair share. He simply could not face the possibility that she would know. Could not imagine himself facing her, attempting to explain the unexplainable.

It didn’t matter that it had happened before he knew who he truly was, or that he’d rediscovered her. It didn’t matter that his life depended daily on a delicate balance of staying one step ahead of his enemies, of constant, ruthless vigilance. It didn’t really matter that his sole motivation for all of it had been the protection of his family—the family that had ultimately been destroyed by the very system he had sworn to uphold. Oh, the bitter irony of his wasted existence!

He had lost them all. But out of all the chaos and the despair, heaven had smiled on him one more time, and sent him her.

He would not let her down now. He would not lose her too.

A slight, choked sob caught his attention and he turned to see her hands twisting in her lap, and a solitary tear coursing down her cheek.

Immediately he reached for her, covered her hands with his and gave her a reassuring squeeze.

Her eyes, two dark pools large enough to swallow him, found his and they exchanged smiles. It was amazing, really. How they held each other up. Just as she was his rock—he was hers. They clung to each other with the absurd notion that somehow, as long as they did so, they were invincible. Just as it had been, all those many years ago. It was an illusion, of course. Now as then. But it brought them both comfort. Strength.

He lifted his hand to cup her baby soft cheek, wiping her tear away.

“Heeey,” he said softly. “None of that now. This is supposed to be a fun trip.”

“Yes of course. I’m sorry.”

Her smile chased the shadows from his heart. He would have time to deal with the future. But now it was time to live in the present. How long he would have to hold her, to shower two lifetimes of love and affection upon her, he did not know. Living as he did, even at the top of the shark tank that was the Reich, every day he didn’t wake up to find himself executed or assassinated was a gift. To live in fear of tomorrow was to waste the precious gift of today.

There would be time enough for him to worry about Himmler and the Resistance. But now—now was for them. The weekend was theirs. And he planned to live every moment of it as it were his last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay in posting! I hope the update was enjoyable. More will be on the way very soon. :)


	20. North South Lake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Victoria arrive at John's lake house, and finally have a chance to talk.
> 
> *Mild heat advisory, with a high romance-index and a great deal of sweetness. Still probably NSFW*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I love the stillness of the wood:  
> I love the music of the rill:  
> I love to couch in pensive mood  
> Upon some silent hill. 
> 
> Scarce heard, beneath yon arching trees,  
> The silver-crested ripples pass;  
> And, like a mimic brook, the breeze  
> Whispers among the grass.
> 
> Here from the world I win release,  
> Nor scorn of men, nor footstep rude,  
> Break in to mar the holy peace  
> Of this great solitude. 
> 
> Here may the silent tears I weep  
> Lull the vexed spirit into rest,  
> As infants sob themselves to sleep  
> Upon a mother's breast. 
> 
> But when the bitter hour is gone,  
> And the keen throbbing pangs are still,  
> Oh, sweetest then to couch alone  
> Upon some silent hill! 
> 
> To live in joys that once have been,  
> To put the cold world out of sight,  
> And deck life's drear and barren scene  
> With hues of rainbow-light…”  
> —Lewis Carroll, “Solitude”

**Chapter 20—North South Lake  
**

They arrived at the house just after midnight, and John pulled his car gratefully into the garage, closing and locking the automatic door behind them with the touch of a button on his visor. They had made it successfully.

He lay his head back for a moment against the seat, sighing with relief. They’d passed his security perimeter about half a mile back. His property, and even the lake itself, was ringed with a large squadron of highly loyal men who would remain out of sight as long as there were no incidents. He regretted the need for such high security, but he did not dare bring her out here entirely alone, despite all his other precautions. At least this way, they would be alerted to any kind of danger.

He turned to observe his precious passenger, currently dozing quietly in the seat next to him. Now they were here, she was truly safe—far safer than she’d been even in his penthouse apartment. Years of careful planning and precaution invested into this place had seen to that.

The house itself was hard to find for starters--nestled far back from the main road behind a dense line of trees, a barely discernible dirt track through the wilderness the only access to the property. Once spotted, it looked like an ordinary and unassuming two story home, prominently perched at the head of the lake and ringed with a tall, wrought iron fence line and a gated entrance. But there was far more here than met the eye of the casual observer.

If push came to shove, he could house Victoria here, he knew, even if she were alone. The only trouble was it was far too far away from the city for him to really be with her or even keep a close enough eye on her, and too easy for him to be followed here if he was seen to take too many trips into the countryside. Still, in an emergency, he could send her here and know she was safe enough until he could come for her—provided she could fend for herself. And that was something he needed to see to while they were here.

“Victoria,” he whispered, caressing her cheek softly until she stirred awake. “We’re here.”

“Are we?” She blinked at him and smiled. “I must have fallen asleep.”

“About half an hour ago.”

She turned to him and smiled, stretching a little. “How perfectly marvelous it is to wake up and see you next to me. Even if it is in a car.”

He huffed a laugh, but didn’t reply, allowing himself to bask for a moment in the pleasure of her smile. Then he leaned in and planted a soft kiss on her lips.

“Let’s get you inside. It’s time you were in bed.”

“Mmm…I am looking forward to that.”

He grazed her knuckles with another kiss before stepping out of the car, whistling slightly as he walked around to her side and handed her out, then opened the trunk to retrieve her bags before heading to the door that led inside, unlocking the door and letting them in to the kitchen.

Flipping the lights on, he set her bags down at the small breakfast area off to one side, surreptitiously watching her spin in a small circle, her brilliant sapphire blue eyes taking it all in.

“How very lovely your home is! So very different to your apartment. I was beginning to think no one used wood anymore,” she said, running her hands appreciatively over the kitchen cabinets.

“My apartment is decorated and furnished by the Fuhrer,” he said, frowning at even the mention of Himmler. “Our house on Long Island was much more like this. More normal.”

“It is very beautiful,” she said appreciatively. “So very warm, and I have only seen one room yet. Ooh!” she said, spying the floor-to-ceiling picture windows in the family room that looked out over the dark vista beyond. “Is that it? Is that the lake?”

“That's it!” He flipped on the lights in the family room for her and smiled, leaning against the doorway to the kitchen, hands in his pockets, watching her take it all in. She was wide awake again now, and her appreciation for his home pleased him greatly.

“Oh John,” her breath escaped her as she made her way to the windows. “Oh, can we go have a look?”

“Well, it’s hard to see at night, but if you like, yes we can.”

Leaving their stuff in the kitchen, he led her out the back door, strolling down the gently sloping hill to the dock at the edge of his property. He smiled as he watched her eagerly race past him, spreading her arms wide and taking a deep breath, as if embracing the scene.

“Oh I can smell it! Can’t you?” She turned her broad smile in his direction, and his heart nearly stopped beating. She was so very beautiful. 

“Yes,” he answered, huffing a laugh as she sprinted down to the dock itself, out past the floodlights framing the perimeter of his yard. 

She continued all the way to the end of the dock and sat, suspended over the inky blackness of the lake beneath a canopy of endless stars. He caught up to her slowly, sitting down beside her and dangling his feet over the edge as she did, one arm spread behind her back as he propped himself up on both hands. Her eyes were closed, as if she were breathing it all in, and he took a moment to appreciate again how beautiful she was, and how deeply satisfying it was to have her here with him like this. Alone. Secluded. Safe. 

For a time, neither spoke, both listening to the deep peace of the night, to the frogs croaking at each other, accompanied by the crickets’ endless song, and the occasional hooting of an owl, to the gentle stirrings of the quiet waters beneath them. Outside of the occasional breeze, it was a still and tranquil night, and the lake looked like a mill pond--a perfect, glassy mirror to the sky. John inhaled the peace of the setting--letting it sink deep into his battered soul. They were here, and they were safe. And for a time at least, he could relax the constant vigilance that his position as Reichsmarschall demanded. Here they were in a world of their own, far away from the claustrophobic city and the ever-present spying eye of the Reich.

He had needed to come here. Here he could process it all--could begin to reconcile the newly discovered truths about himself, about who he had once had been. Could explore the two lifetimes worth of feelings he had for the woman next to him, and could process their next move. 

“I have always wished to see a place like this,” she whispered, calling him out of his own thoughts. “It is wholly unspoilt.”

“Yes it is," he said with a smile. "This place is still a wilderness, really. Almost no one is out here, and I like it that way. Which is why I own most of this side of the lake. So even if others do someday find their way here, my house will still be the only one visible from here.”

“How perfectly wonderful it is. And so silent,” she continued. “It is quite a deafening silence, is it not? Not quite like snow, but nearly. Even in my time, there is the noise of people, and the knowledge that I am never far away from a great many of them. But here—here it is wonderful to know there is no other humanity. But you. And me.”

Well. Mostly. But again, he did not wish to ruin her enjoyment of their little get-away by telling her he had men ringing all around them. Unseen, and far enough back they would never be seen—or be able to intrude on their privacy. But enough men to ensure their safety.

“Yes. I know what you mean,” He gazed at her and smiled at the child-like wonder in her face. God how she had once charmed him with her girlish innocence. Through her eyes, everything was new and exciting. But perhaps it was less about her innocence and more about her enthusiasm, her intelligence and her curiosity. No matter what it was, it touched him now as it did then, and his heart swelled anew with love for the beautiful, perfect woman beside him.

“And ohhh, look at the heavens!” She said, tossing her face to the sky. “I was beginning to think the future world had no stars at all. But it turns out they are still there.”

“Yes, they are still here. The haze of lights in the city obscures them. Out here, there is no light to block them out. It's reassuring somehow, isn't it?”

“Yes it is. And how close they look! So close, and so very beautiful."

“Very beautiful indeed."

She lowered her eyes to him and smiled, knowing of course his comment was not directed to the stars. He could not hold back any longer, and so he leaned in and kissed her sweetly, a light brushing of his lips against hers, enough to feel their full softness, to taste her honey sweetness.

But try as he might, he could not help himself deepening the kiss. His hands rose to cup her face, their kisses slow and deep as he drank in her sighs, the little shiver of pleasure that ran through her as she yielded to him, remembering a day where such a kiss was the stuff of his every fantasy. God how he wanted to drown himself in her kisses. Lose himself forever and never come back. And so he lavished his affection on her beautiful mouth, tasting the seam of her lips with his tongue, licking and caressing, nibbling softly at her lower lip, sucking it gently, pulling from her a soft, breathy moan before his lips traveled to her cheek. Her head tipped back, opening the long, pale column of her graceful neck to him as he kissed every inch of her throat, licking and nibbling his way down to the fluttering pulse at the base of her neck.

“Ohhhh John,” she whispered, her hands in his hair, pressing him gently closer. “Oh my love….”

He moaned against her throat--her sighs, her flavor intoxicating him.

"Tell me what you want, Victoria. It's yours."

“I think you know already.”

Her heart was racing, her breath coming in short, airy gasps. All for him. He dipped his head, kissed her fluttering pulse.

“Maybe I wanna hear you say it,” he rasped.

“I want you to make love to me.”

He purred as he kissed the tender spot beneath her ear.

"How?" He growled. "How do you want me?"

"I want your mouth. Your hands. Your body covering mine as you drive into me."

Her hushed words broke over him like a physical caress. With a groan, he seized her lips again, his need for her bottomless. Absolute. The more he feasted himself on her, the deeper his hunger grew.

“Your wish is my command, Your Majesty,” he whispered, tearing his mouth from hers and flashing her a smile. Standing, he extended her his hand. “Come. Let’s get you out of the night air.”

* * *

John held her hand entwined in his as they made their way back up the hill towards the house, standing silently over them with its large, picture windows open to the inside, electric lights pouring from it, a beacon of warmth, of home and hearth.

They went first back to the kitchen, where Victoria helped him stock the refrigerator and put everything they had brought with them away. Then before leaving, he stopped by the wet bar and snagged a bottle of wine and two glasses, before retrieving her bags and heading to the stairs. “Follow me,” he whispered, winking.

Victoria loved John's cottage. Loved the warm, walnut-toned wood that pervaded the kitchen, the cozy, plush carpets underfoot and the graceful, scrolled white banister, sliding smoothly beneath her hand as she followed him up the stairs. The pale greens and blues of the upper floor, trimmed as they were in white woodwork gave it an airy, open and almost cuddly feeling. It was a home so very comfortably and cheerfully appointed--so much more so than any place she had seen so far in the future. Absolutely everywhere she looked, there were family photographs smiling after them, but after the first few caught her eye, she shrank away from them guiltily. This was a home built lovingly for a family. John’s family, with Helen.

This would be Helen’s taste she was so admiring, she realized. Helen’s home. Helen’s territory. Helen’s family.

Helen’s _husband._

She felt suddenly the invader. The adulteress who had bedded another woman’s husband. Doubly so, for she had given herself to a man other than her own husband. The thought sank heavily in her heart. This is not the way she would have had things be between them! Oh why— _why_ —could he not have been hers to start with? He should have been hers!

But then, John turned to her, his eyes warm and soft with love, and the heaviness disappeared. Their circumstances had been impossible, but had done nothing to change either of their hearts. They had loved one another for a long time. Loved, and been denied so very much. Surely that counted as some excuse?

They passed several doors on the left, and a long bookshelf lining the wall on the right before turning a corner, and stopping at a door at the very end of the corridor.

“Here we go,” he said, “at last.”

He ushered her into an enormous master bedroom decorated in more soft blue tones, setting her things down on the end of the large bed, and the wine and glasses on a nearby table before closing the door behind them. Then he went to the bedside table nearest the large window and removed his jacket, draping it over a nearby chair. Beneath it, she saw he wore a hidden pistol under his arm. This he removed carefully from its holster and slid it into the small drawer. 

“I thought I felt something hard under your arm earlier. Why do you wear that?”

“Oh,” his eyebrows shot up briefly as he gave her a rueful smile, shucking off the curious holster and laying it next to his jacket. “I never go anywhere without it. In this world, I’m afraid such precautions are necessary.”

She nodded, accepting this information as she stood uncertainly in the middle of the room, her eyes on the large, plush bed. Their bed. His and Helen’s. Her discomfort returned.

“Heeey,” he said, coming to her, putting his arms around her. “What’s wrong?”

She took a shuddering breath. “John…I…perhaps I should…do you have a guest room?”

He blinked at her once. Twice. “Why?” He asked, his voice pitched carefully.

“This…” she gestured helplessly at the beautiful bed. “This is your room.”

“And?”

She bit her lip, hesitating to answer him. How much should she say? Did she really want to bring the specter of his wife here into the room right now, between them?

He seemed to divine her thoughts in any case, and hooked the curtain of her hair behind her ear tenderly as he gazed intently into her face.

“She left me, Victoria. Long before you arrived.”

She raised her eyes to his to find conviction there, and reassurance.

“Helen and I fell apart for reasons that had nothing to do with you. She’s gone. And I don’t know if she is ever coming back. Or…if I even want her to.”

“But she is your wife.”

“Is she?” He asked, anger and bitterness turning his eyes suddenly cold, almost frightening her. “She’s turned her back on me. On our family. On everything you see around you. As far as I’m concerned, this is _my_ room now.” He pulled her closer, nuzzling against her, eyes filling again with warmth and need. “And I want _my_ lover in _my_ room. In _my_ bed. In my arms. Where she belongs.”

His lips found hers and all her doubts melted away beneath his touch. No matter what had occurred before her return to his life, his kiss reminded her that he was hers.

“Now. No more argument. You'll stay here with me. Here, there is no need to pretend you belong anywhere else."

"If you're sure," she said hesitantly. Though it was a ridiculous argument at this stage, anyway. They were lovers already. The damage had already been done.

"I am," he whispered, and leaned in to kiss her again, deeply. "You must be thirsty after the long drive,” he said, pulling away and rubbing her arms lightly. “I know I am.”

He opened the bottle of wine and poured them each a glass of the Pinot Noir, his lips turned up at the corners again, his eyes smiling at her when he turned and handed her a glass. He looked so happy in that moment she willed her fears and guilt away as she accepted. After all, what was done, was done. And she knew perfectly well she would never wish it undone again.

“I confess I am a bit thirsty," she said, finding her voice at last. "What shall we drink to?” She asked, accepting the proffered glass.

“To us. At last.”

“Yes. To us. And to reclaiming what was lost.”

He smiled as they clinked glasses. The fruity bouquet filled her senses, and she drank it all. Smiling, he filled her glass again and they both sat on the bed.

“We used to do this a lot you know,” she remarked, laying backwards on her elbows, beginning to feel at ease again, still holding her drink carefully.

“What, sitting on my bed together? I think I would remember that, surely.” He twiddled his eyebrows as he joined her, and reclining so that their faces were close together, and his golden green eyes were close to hers.

“No. Drinking together, I mean.”

“Ah. That. Yes of course. Well. In my defense, Ma’am, I can only say how adorable you were when you’d had a few glasses. Particularly champagne.”

“I love champagne.”

He laughed. “Mmm. So do I—especially when you’re drinking it.” His smile was so warm and so sweet, and the heat in his eyes made her heart beat faster. But he dropped them suddenly and twirled his wineglass thoughtfully in his hands. “You must have questions.”

The abrupt change of subject startled her briefly.

Did she have questions? She supposed she did, but when she gazed into his eyes, she found them deserting her.

“I do not even know what to ask,” she admitted, caressing him with her eyes. He was so very handsome this way, her fingers positively itched to touch him, to trace the angular planes of cheek and brow, to feel the softness of his lips. “You are yourself, that is enough for me. As I told you before, the how and the why doesn’t really matter. You are yourself, and we are together. What more could I want?”

The trace of a smile touched his mouth.

“It’s all so strange,” he said, shaking his head a little, taking a drink. “This morning I woke up entirely a different man. Well, not entirely, I guess.” He huffed a laugh. “But there’s something to be said for embracing one’s own truth. I suppose I owe Trade Minister Tagomi a thank you.”

“Trade Minister Tagomi?”

“Oh. A Japanese official who paid me a surprise visit this afternoon from the Pacific States.” He sighed as he gazed at her. “Something he said…resonated with me. I think it was the final straw.”

“Tell me everything,” she said suddenly. “I want to know it all.”

“All of what, the Trade Minister’s visit?”

“Everything that led you to your remembering.” She trailed her fingers lightly through his curls. How pleasurable to touch him! To know that he welcomed her caresses. That she was allowed to reach for him the way she had always longed to do.

“I don’t know where to begin,” he said with a lift of his brows. “It started when we met again, obviously,” he said at length. “When I saw you standing in my office. From the very beginning, you were familiar, somehow. I found you instantly attractive, but it was more than that. Much more.” His eyes met hers. “I was drawn to you like I’ve never been drawn to anyone. And not long after, the visions started.”

“Visions?”

“At first they were images. Colors. A location. A feeling. A fragment of a memory, like a photograph. But always—always—there was you. Dressed in a beautiful gown of some kind or other.” He smiled at her. “And after awhile, the visions became stronger, as if I was reliving the past. _My_ past.”

As he continued to explain, Victoria felt a sob erupt in her throat as she listened to his account of memories surfacing, of the internal war he’d been waging ever since she had arrived. 

"Oh John...how terrible all of this has been for you! I am so sorry to have caused you so much distress."

"Don't you dare be sorry," he said, relieving her of her glass, setting them both on the side table as he returned to her and drew her into his arms. “I am so happy you came, Victoria. You being here--means everything to me. I can't...deny things lately have been tough. First Thomas, then the Helen and the girls. I couldn't protect my own family. I let them all down and then, suddenly, I lost them all.” He lay his cheek on top of her head. "I lost them--but then, I found you. I know now how much I loved you before. But even if I didn't have my memories from the lifetime I spent as Lord Melbourne, I would have loved you anyway. Oh my darling girl...you have no idea how badly I needed you."

She clung to him tightly, willing her strength to him. Willing him to know how much she loved him. Then she raised her lips to his and pulled him into her, kissing him with all the love in her heart. He moaned into her kiss, taking everything she gave him.

"You have made all the difference," he whispered, half smiling. "Its almost like you knew I needed you, and you came to me."

"We needed each other, my love." She brushed his hair back from his face, loving the way he melted into her touch. "We needed each other. For you are my strength, and I am yours. And I was so desolate without you."

He kissed her again and then pulled her back into his arms.

She sighed, nuzzling into his neck, breathing him in, inhaling his scent deeply, loving his spicy cologne and the clean, fresh smell of his shirt as he continued his story. Every memory that had surfaced had been a time they had shared together, and his retelling of them brought so much back into her own mind, until she felt the tears coursing down her cheeks as she nestled as deeply into his shoulder as she could.

“I am sorry,” she said again at one point. “I was so selfish then. So ignorant. So demanding upon you. How childish I must have seemed to you. And you were always so patient with me.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he chided her gently, laying his cheek on her head as he drew her in closer. “I loved you, Victoria. I would not have had you any other way. I loved your selfishness. Your possessiveness. I loved the way you counted the minutes until I returned, the way you chastised me so ferociously when I was gone from your side for any length of time whatsoever. I loved every demand you ever made upon me, because it meant you loved me and needed me in a way no one else ever had. After what felt like a lifetime of indifference, where my comings and goings were of no interest whatsoever to anyone besides myself, suddenly, I mattered to someone very much. And for that someone to be _you_ \--you will never know what your innocent, sweet love did for me. What I told you that day was true--you gave me a reason to continue, and I loved you for it. With all my heart.”

“Oh Lord M!" She squeezed him even harder. "I did need you--needed you and loved you so I thought my heart would burst. How I used to dream of you. I used to wonder what it would feel like to have your lips upon mine, and so much more. I dreamed of being in your arms, of touching you, of running my hands over your chest, your back--your bare skin. Of what it would be like to sleep beside you at night. And later, I wondered what it meant to be loved by a man. And I wanted that--with you."

His lips found hers with a growl and he kissed her with a sweet, urgent passion that warmed her body and soul. And for a time he spoke no more as they kissed and kissed each other, their tears mingling. When finally he drew back he lay his head against hers, breathing hard, dusting her face with feather light kisses.

“What I would have given then to be able to make your every dream come true,” he rasped, his breath warm against her cheek. “To have you all to myself without fear of what it would do to you. I would have left you in no doubt of my heart, my darling girl, if it were up to me.” He drew her into himself, pressing her cheek against his shoulder and wrapping her tightly in his arms. "I would have gladly been your first--your last--your only lover. If only I could have been."

She shuddered with pleasure at his words, at his touch, her heart for once feeling perfectly content. Oh this—this was what she needed! What she had longed for and had been denied so long. Oh at last, he was here! He was here and he was close and he was hers, and she never, never wanted to leave him! She snuggled deeper into his embrace with a sigh, and for a time neither spoke again.

After a while, with Victoria’s prompting, he continued his narrative, his hands drawing soothing little circles on her neck as he talked, lulling her as he told her the rest of the events as they led up to his understanding and acceptance of his former life. The movement of his hands was hypnotic. Slow and measured, he dug his thumbs, his fingers into the knotted muscles of her shoulders, rubbing the tension away as he finished by relaying to her the details about his meeting with the Japanese Trade Minister earlier in the afternoon, and man's unusual insights that had tipped him over the edge.

“How very singular,” she remarked at last. “And he was so correct.”

“He truly was. My head was spinning as I made my way home to you. And then I came up the elevator, and you were playing Mozart. And I remembered a conversation we had once. You were wearing a plaid dress, and playing the same song for me. Somehow, it triggered a…waterfall…inside my head. And suddenly I knew. There was no other explanation.” He sighed, resettled her in his arms. “And when we made love tonight, it was like a door opened up inside of me and the rest came rushing back. Until I remembered everything.”

She sought his lips again, sighing when he brought them crashing down on her.

“I would have loved you anyway,” he whispered heatedly when he released her. “Even had we never met before. I would have loved you, Victoria. I could not have helped myself. In this life or any other, whether I remembered or not. I would love you.” He kissed her again.

“And I you,” she returned, when his lips traveled to her cheek. “It makes so much sense to me now, all the things I was feeling. Should we live a thousand lifetimes. Each time I know I would end up loving you.”

“Would you?” he sought her with his golden eyes, shining with unshed tears. “Could you have loved me if I were only John Smith and nothing more? Not simply for the fact that I look like your Lord M?”

“I believe I have told you that already, or have you forgotten?” she said, smiling, kissing the tip of his nose, nuzzling him. "Call yourself any name, my love. In any country, in any time, under any circumstance, and I will always find you. Find you and love you, and you alone."

He crashed his lips down on hers, kissing her with a desperate passion that seared her. Desire bloomed inside of her again as their kisses grew more heated. She could not get close enough to him! Could not touch him enough! Their kisses grew frenzied until he rolled her over on the bed, covering her.

“Lord M!” his name flew from her lips. “Oh my darling John! Make love to me,” she whispered, reaching between them for the buttons of his shirt. His breathing was ragged and his eyes were darkened with desire--as dark as midnight as he regarded her. “I need to feel you inside of me. Now, please!”

Another growl escaped his lips as he slanted his mouth over hers. The time for talking was over. There was nothing in his touch, in his kiss but surrender.

* * *

John collapsed onto the bed next to her, utterly spent. He reached for her, gathering her into his arms, and cradling her against him. Finally. The journey, the city was behind him and he didn’t have to tear himself from her arms anymore tonight. He could finally hold her and pet her and kiss her until sleep claimed them both. He sighed with contentment, running his fingers through her silky hair, loving the way she nestled deeper into him, curling her own fingers through the hair of his chest.

“I wasn’t too rough was I?” he asked with sudden worry.

“Nooo,” she smiled against him, eyes closed. “Oh no. I adored it. I adore you.”

“I counted at least three,” he grinned, laying his cheek against her hair.

“More than that,” she slurred, eyes heavy. “I lost count.”

He chuckled to himself. God it thrilled him to know he could rock her world so damned hard.

“Wait until we really get going,” he purred against her, making her smile.

“Will I survive it?”

“You will,” he kissed the top of her head with a smile. "I guarantee it."

“Oh, my love,” she whispered, reaching up, stroking his face softly, like the touch of an angel’s wing. “How I have longed to be this way with you.”

Her touch, her words thrilled him, and his eyes closed in pleasure.

“I used to try and imagine you,” she whispered, her touch trailing onto his lips. “I would lie awake in bed at night after…” she took a shuddering breath, and he knew with a twist of his gut what she wasn’t saying.

_Albert.  
_

How he hated the man to the marrow of his bones. He gave her a squeeze, as if he could banish him forever from both of their lives if he just held her closely enough.

“I would pretend he wasn't there. And I'd close my eyes, and see you,” she continued. “Your eyes soft and warm, you would smile on me, My Darling, and reach out to touch my cheek. And I would yearn to feel you for real, holding me just like this. How I longed to feel you making love to me instead of him. How I tried to imagine what it would feel like to have your body deep inside of mine…and I would cry because I knew I would never know—”

He drew her up, tears in his own eyes, as he kissed her hard and deep, as if he could erase it all. All the pain and the loss for them both. All the aching of her heart. “If I could go back and do it all over again,” he said with sudden urgency, straight into her eyes with all the conviction of his soul, “You know I would accept you, and damn them all.”

She cried out against his lips, crawling up his body, straddling him, laying her whole length against him. He moaned beneath her, his body stirring yet again to feel the wet heat of her center pressing against him as he wrapped her securely in his arms.

“Hold me,” she whispered against his lips. “Hold me tonight and never let me go. I need your arms around me. Oh how I need to feel you so!”

“I am here,” he breathed against her cheek. “I am here, my love. My queen. My darling girl. And I am not letting you go.”

They kissed and kissed, her sweet tongue deep in his mouth, his hands dropping to cup her hips, to slide her against himself until he hardened and slipped inside of her again.

Cosseted in the deep, peaceful dark of night, they made love again, slow and sweet, locked in each other's eyes, their bodies unhurried now but craving connection, joining, needing to be one, prolonging their union as long as they could, wishing it to never end. Afterward, he dropped beside her and drew her in face-to-face as she had so often dreamed of having him, and they kissed and touched and held one another, entwined, whispering sweet words of love until finally they drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There now. A gentle good night for our lovers. I hope it was enjoyable. :)
> 
> Sorry for the slowness of this new update. I've been taking some time to write farther ahead. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think in the comments--I love hearing from you! :)


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